


The Last Something That Meant Anything

by stoleyouaway



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Romance, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:11:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1814794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoleyouaway/pseuds/stoleyouaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the fighting and the sacrifice in the war against Voldemort, Harry did very little to fight to keep those he loved in his life. There was only one person who could open up Harry's eyes and make him appreciate those whom he had taken for granted, and that is Draco Malfoy. Who knows? Harry might even fall in love along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Harry Potter was not an average man. To the world he knew, he was the hero, the one who saved humanity from the darkest of evils. He was revered, worshipped, hounded for photographs and interviews and charity he refused to accept. So sick of the attention was Harry that he actually refused to complete his seventh year of Hogwarts with the rest of his year, instead resigning to a life of relative solitude at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione visited occasionally, and he was always welcome at the Weasleys' residence for holidays, but the majority of him despised these social events. Harry felt  _tired –_ mentally and physically exhausted from the efforts he put forth in the war. Hermione lectured him that it wasn't  _good for him,_ and didn't he know how much he  _needed_ his friends?

But did anyone stop to think about what Harry needed?

Even himself?

Truth be told, Harry was lonely. Not company-wise, because he refused that right and left, much to his friends' dismay, but romantically. It'd been a long time since Harry'd been with  _anyone_ , the last being Ginny right before Bill and Fleur's wedding. At first he considered rekindling the romance between him and his ex-girlfriend, before realizing he couldn't even stomach the thought of being with her.

Or any girl, really.

It was one late May morning, the sky outside a dark, threatening gray, when this was confirmed for him. Harry dragged himself out of bed, stripping quickly and dousing himself with freezing water, scrubbing the grime out of his hair and skin from a few days without washing, toweling off quickly. Stepping out of the shower, Harry was faced with his own reflection – and if he was honest with himself, he didn't even recognize the person staring back at him. Harry's hair had grown out long, hanging in a shaggy fashion over his eyes and grazing the nape of his neck. His neck was scruffy, weeks old stubble covering his cheeks and chin. The lean muscles that once stretched under his tanned skin, formed from years of Quidditch practice, were gone, replaced by sharp bones and sinew. The most haunting part of his appearance, however, was his eyes – they were sunken-in, faded and dark when they had once been a brilliant emerald, the light in them completely gone. Harry shaved quickly with magic, knowing he had to look at least semi-presentable if he was venturing out into the public. After pulling a comb through his untamable hair, Harry dressed in casual Muggle clothing – a jumper and some loose jeans that no longer fit on his slim waist. It wasn't like this every morning. Usually he'd roll out of bed around three in the afternoon, make himself some tea, and explore the house. There were rooms he had left untouched even now – Sirius' parents' bedroom, the attic, and another mysterious room on the third floor. Usually Harry would bury himself in his late godfather's scarlet and gold bed covers, breathing in the scent which was mustier than anything, and clutch on to the last shreds of happiness he possessed. Most of the time, Kreacher was the only contact he had with another living being.

Yes, Harry Potter was living a very sad existence.

But today was different. He had errands to do, grocery shopping and the like, and decided he needed the exercise anyway. Kreacher could have easily gotten him what he needed, but something in Harry was pulling him outside on this gloomy day, into the bitter, biting wind. Gathering his belongings, consisting of his wand and wallet, Harry stepped into the outside world for the first time in a long time.

He debated taking the tube into town, to savor the normality and mundaneness of the act, before deciding he was too tired and made his way the three blocks to the closest apparition point. Harry fleetingly prayed he wouldn't Splinch himself from lack of practice, before he was being sucked into an airless vacuum, landing on his feet on a cobblestone path. Sure enough, as soon as he'd begun walking toward his destination, it started raining.

Except, it wasn't  _just_ raining. Of course, the one time Harry forgot an umbrella, it had to be  _downpouring._ Within minutes, Harry was soaked to the bone. He considered ducking into a store to dry off, but realized it would be useless. These storms sometimes lasted hours. It was better to just keep going.

Many people were running in every direction, in an attempt to avoid the rain from ruining their expensive business suits and overcoats. One man in a dark cloak ran into Harry so hard in his haste, Harry saw stars. The man turned back briefly to apologize, and immediately Harry recognized the stormy gray eyes.

"Malfoy?"

Those slate gray eyes widened as he looked Harry full in the face for the first time since his trial, when Harry had vouched for him and his mother. He'd changed, grown taller and skinnier and impossibly even more handsome, his green eyes jaded from aging a great deal in a short time. His raven hair was plastered to his head, a fringe hanging over his eyes, curling slightly below his ear. It made him look boyish, the only part of him that wasn't already an adult. Draco had a hard time believing the man in front of him was really only nineteen.

"Potter," he replied coolly, arching one flaxen eyebrow. "You're wet."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, I noticed."

Harry made to move past him, but Draco reached out a hand to keep him in place. "Wait."

"Yes?"

Draco hesitated for a moment, unsure of exactly how to word it. "I . . . wanted to say, thank you. For everything. For, you know, my trial and . . ." he trailed off lamely.

"Sure." Harry's tone was curt, borderline rude. "Now if you'll excuse me . . ."

"Now  _wait_ just a minute, Potter!" Draco was growing exasperated. By that time he was also soaked through, his cotton cloak doing little to protect him from the torrential rain. "I'm trying to thank you, and the least I deserve is for you to  _look_ at me." Without a clear thought in his head, Draco laid a hand on the other boy's shoulder. "What is wrong with you?"

It wasn't spoken meanly. It was a genuine question of concern that left Harry scrabbling for words. He shook his head, water droplets flying in all directions. "I just, I—I don't really know."

Pity and something else Draco refused to name swelled in the Slytherin's heart. "Well, then, you'll just have to come with me."

Harry looked startled, a little like a lost puppy with huge saucers for eyes, as Draco began dragging him down the sidewalk. "W-Where?"

Draco smirked a little at the fact that Harry wasn't fighting him. "You're coming home with me. You need to get dry. And it looks like you haven't eaten in a week."

* * *

Four minutes later, Harry found himself in the dining room of Malfoy Manor, every bit as regal and pretentious as it was the first time Harry had been there, though in that moment the last thing he noticed was the décor. The table was massive, with enough room to easily seat twenty people, and it was set in front of a roaring ornate marble fireplace. The only other thing in the room beside Harry was a dominating crystal and glass chandelier. In the dead silence, Harry couldn't help feeling very awkward. What was he thinking, letting Malfoy take him home? He  _despised_ the prat, and the fact that he changed sides during the war didn't mean Harry thought they could be friends. They were Malfoy and Potter – arch nemeses.

That is, until one of Malfoy's many house elves came out of a door he guessed led to the kitchen, carrying a large tureen of butternut squash soup and a bowl. Harry's stomach growled despite himself, not realizing how hungry he'd been until that moment. Following the soup came a large tray of assorted bagels and pastries, finger sandwiches, and a large pitcher of butterbeer. Finally Draco appeared, cloakless and dry (as was Harry. There was "no way in  _hell,_ Potter" he was entering Malfoy Manor soaking wet), wearing just a white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows and slate gray slacks. Upon seeing the feast laid out before them, he grinned widely. "I hope you're hungry. I thought we could have a nice brunch."

"Starving," Harry replied without thinking. Draco just stared at him knowingly and took the seat opposite him.

"Well then dig in."

For ten flat minutes, there was silence in the room as Harry chowed down anything he could stuff into his mouth. He was past decorum, at that point, needing only food in his belly that wasn't leftover or stale. Draco observed him in companionable silence, chewing thoughtfully and wondering what exactly what he was doing with the Boy Savior in his dining room.

When Harry's stomach could literally not hold any more food, he looked sheepishly up at Malfoy. "Sorry I ate all your food," he said bashfully.

Draco waved it off with one long-fingered, pale hand. "No matter." Another flick of his wrist and the food disappeared from the table. "Now, talk to me."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked defensively.

"I  _mean,_ " Draco replied with an exasperated sigh coloring his tone, "why are you starving yourself? Why are you hiding?"

"I'm not  _hiding -,"_

"Yes, you are. There's been no press about you in The Prophet for months. No photographs, no news . . . if you even step  _foot_ out of your house, usually there's something."

"Well, that's the problem then. Today was the first day I  _did_ step foot out of my house in months."

"But why?" Draco couldn't help but be extremely curious. What did The Boy Who Lived have to hide?

"Because I'm done."

"Done?"

"Yes,  _done._ I don't want the attention. I don't want the cameras and interviewers in my faces, I don't want to answer questions about the war or Voldemort or my love life or  _anything._ I just want to live a normal life and I can't even do that right. I'm an orphan. I lost my parents, my godfather, my friends . . . everyone I've ever cared about is lost or has left me. And no one seems to  _get_ that."

Draco watched with sadness welling in his eyes as he watched the Boy Wonder rip out his hair and spill his heart onto the table, and he was overcome with a sudden urge to walk around the table and wrap him in a warm embrace . . .

But Draco did no such thing. Such a thing would have been both preposterously out of character and also completely uncalled for. Harry didn't ask for his comfort or sympathy, and so it would have been out of place to offer it. "I know how you feel, Harry."

And for the first time, Harry acknowledged how much Malfoy lost coming out of the war. He lost an aunt and a friend, and his father and many of the people he grew to know as a Death Eater were in Azkaban. Even if he fought on the opposite side, he suffered just as many losses. "I'm sorry, you're completely right. I didn't realize. I—Did you call me Harry?"

"Well that _is_  your name. And I didn't lose people I love, Harry, not like you did. I do miss my father, but he was an evil man, just as I was. I realized the error of his ways, but it was too late by then. I'd already followed in his footsteps." Draco watched as Harry's gaze drifted towards his left arm. His Dark Mark was clearly visible, black ink a startling contrast against the pale pallor of his skin. "It still hurts, sometimes. The Mark. Sometimes I'll wake up from nightmares of  _him_ and it will be burning, and for a couple moments I'll be terrified that he's come back and he's calling me, before I remember that it's over and now it's just a memory."

Harry ruefully rubbed his fingers against the scar on his forehead. "We've both been scarred by this war. In more ways than one."

And suddenly Harry didn't feel so much hate for Draco Malfoy. If anyone could be this honest with him, well, then he must not be that bad. Remembering his manners, Harry clears his throat and mutters, "Thank you for the food. Draco," he added."

Draco smiled at the use of his given name. Abruptly he stood, Harry quickly following suit.

"Well, I should go-,"

"Harry."

"What?"

"Stay."

Harry regarded him warily for a moment, before giving in. "Okay."

* * *

Harry took Draco's lower lip into his mouth, sucking wildly. His fingers were in the blonde's hair and under his shirt and there was fire  _everywhere_ and the friction felt  _so good._  There were splayed out on Draco's bed, ripping at clothing and hair wildly, no concern for how they got there or what would become of this. Harry's main focus was unbuttoning Draco's dress shirt, the buttons seemingly too small for his clumsy hands. Draco, with no more composure than him, tore the shirt off with a frustrated noise, Harry muttering his approval into the other boy's mouth. Harry ran his hands over smooth muscles and down Draco's ticklish sides, stopping to thumb over his nipples. Draco let out a strangled moan that was quickly suppressed by Harry's tongue, delving deep into the cavern of Draco's mouth, tasting sweet butterbeer and toothpaste. Harry's shirt soon followed, lips leaving his only to clamp on to his neck, sucking and licking and Harry was mewling. A buck of Draco's hips into Harry's made him wail with need. Desire and heat rose up in Harry, an emotion surfacing for the first time that wasn't sadness or weariness. Hands trembled and belt buckles were undone, sloppily in their haste, and then both their pants were on the floor and the two boys were left in only their underwear. Suddenly Draco stopped, pulling away from Harry and sitting on his chest. Harry looked up at him, wondering why  _now_ of all times he would choose to stop.

"What is it?"

"It's just, I…" Draco's eyes were distant, worried. "It seems fast. I want to do this right."

Harry coughed and furrowed his eyebrows. "Right?"

"Yes." Draco sighed, leaning in to nuzzle the tanned boy. "I want to cook for you, spend time with you, take you out on dates. And then, when we're ready, make love to you."

"Malfoy—,"

"Oh shit." He abruptly rolled off of Harry and stood by the bed. "I just played the love card by accident. Harry, I'm-,"

"I should go." Harry went to gather his clothing, and began to slip his jeans back on his legs.

"Wait, Harry-,"

"No, look Draco. I'm done waiting. Okay?" He slipped his jumper over his head. "I appreciate your hospitality." Even to him, it sounded forced. "Goodbye."

Draco chased him down the stairs, not touching him but pleading with him to turn around. "Harry, just listen to me. What about three minutes ago, when we were kissing and touching? I know you liked it. Why won't you just  _look_ at me—,"

Harry whirled around to face the blond man, anger seeping into his tone. "There's nothing between us, Malfoy. That was a heat of the moment thing, and maybe I'm a little drunk off the butterbeer, but I don't like you. I don't want to date you. I don't want anything to do with you."

In an instant, Harry turned around and was gone.


	2. Two

"But, Harry, you  _have_ to see him again!" Hermione protested.

Harry groaned, now remembering why he didn't invite his friends over anymore. They only interfered in his personal business. Even if they were only trying to help, it was really the last thing he needed to hear right now.

"—It's a moral  _obligation_ -,"

Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, adjusting the duvet on the bed which was currently the only thing covering his lower half – his friends' early morning call had left him no time to even dress properly. Harry shot Ron a withering look, who just shrugged and patted his shoulder, as if to say  _It's Hermione. What did you expect?_

"So?" Hermione asked indignantly. Her hair was wild and untamed, her hands on her hips making her downright scary in Harry's eyes. He shrank further back under the covers.

"Er," he began. "What?"

Hermione's dark brown eyes blazed ferociously. " _Are you going to call him?_ " Her voice had taken on a dangerous tone that even Harry knew not to mess with.

"I just . . . I don't know, Hermione. My life is so complicated right now, I honestly don't need one more person coming in and screwing it up-,"

"Oh, so we screwed up your life? Harry, sometimes you can be a downright  _prat_ -,"

"Actually, Hermione, I meant  _Voldemort._ And maybe I haven't been very fair to you guys lately, and I haven't been returning your letters, but I have a reason."

"Yeah?" It was Ron who spoke this time, who had been very quiet throughout most of the discussion. "What's up, mate?"

"I—," Harry exhaled deeply. "I think I'm depressed."

At once Hermione's face softened. She sat on the side of the bed next to him and took Harry's hand, stroking his (probably also wild) hair with her free hand. "Oh, sweetheart, of course you are. You went through a great deal in a short time. You're probably suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. It's common when someone has undergone great hardships – and Merlin knows you've had plenty of that. But you don't have to suffer in  _silence_ , Harry, you know that. They make potions to help you deal with this kind of thing. And you have friends who love and support you and want to help you get better."

Harry looked down, unable to meet her eyes, instead pulling at a string in his duvet. Closing his eyes, he nodded minutely. "You're right," he muttered, knowing it would make his friend happy. "I'll go down to Diagon Alley today and see what they can do for me."

He looked up just in time to see Hermione leap at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him tight to her chest. "I love you so much Harry," she whispered into his ear. "You're my family. Ron and I are always here for you. Always."

He nodded again as she pulled away. Harry them looked to Ron, who was watching the whole scene looking like was quite uncomfortable. As Hermione scrambled off the bed, Harry watched as his best friend came over and, much to Harry's surprise, also leaned over for a hug. "Love you mate," Ron grunted, uneasy with showing so much emotion. "We'll drop by again soon."

Harry smiled. "Just call first," he reminded them, gesturing down at his body, which was still unclothed under the bedcovers.

They made their goodbyes and Ron and Hermione left through the fireplace, leaving Harry alone again. He lay there with his eyes closed for a few minutes more, willing sleep to overtake him again but knowing it was no use if he was already so awake. Instead he showered and dress, calling out for Kreacher to make him some strong tea, the best thing for such an early morning. Harry took his tea up to the attic, where he had the best view of London through the tiny, filthy window there. It was foggy, usual for the city but not the time of year. Harry briefly wished for a house in the country, with more sun and less bustle.

Harry couldn't decide if he resented his friends or loved them more for caring enough to interfere with his life whether he liked it or not. He acknowledged the fact that solitude and more recent events have made him bitter, the only company he possessed being his thoughts, Kreacher. Harry realized that if he didn't talk with others more, he might lose the ability of speech altogether.

Harry pulled a wool jumper over his green t-shirt, pulled on trainers and made an effort to fix his black hair into something resembling a style. He called out to Kreacher, reminding him that grocery shopping needed to be done since he became occupied the other day when he went out to do shopping. With that, Harry slipped his wand into the waistband of his pants, threw Floo powder into the fireplace and pronounced clearly, "Diagon Alley."

He was spun through the network until he felt dizzy, landing ungracefully in the fireplace of Flourish and Blotts. At once, he heard the gasps and felt eyes on him. He looked up to see many of the shoppers gawking at him as if he were some sort of anomaly, as if they'd never seen another person before. There was whispering and shouting and pushing as a crowd formed around him. Harry winced, fighting through the people calling his name, pulling at his robes, some even falling to their knees and  _bowing_ to him, and not for the first time he wished he'd been more skilled at creating disguises for himself. He could change little things like hair length or eye color, but it took all of his concentration and as soon as he stopped focusing on the spell, it disappeared. Harry shoved his way through the crowd to the front door, fighting past the people to wrench it open, putting his hood up and making his way decidedly down the street toward the Apothecary.

Only to find out it was closed. Harry groaned, turning around and walking back down the street towards Horizon Alley, only to be faced with Eeylops Owl Emporium. There, in the window, in a cage of wrought iron, sat a snow white owl identical to Hedwig. For a brief moment, Harry believed it was really her, and his heart swelled as he began to rush across the street. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, when he saw a black streak down her beak that clearly differentiated her from his own bird. Turning, Harry wiped the moisture from his eyes and kept his face turned downward, heading for the new potion shop he had heard just opened. Harry was only getting The Daily Prophet for hahas now, unaware and uncaring of what was really going on in the wizarding world since he felt so disconnected from it anyway.

Harry knew the place as soon as he approached it. The exterior was bright and inviting,  _Castor's Potions and Remedies_ scrolling across the storefront window. As Harry opened the door, a bell chimed to signal a customer. He was surprised to find it completely deserted – although it  _was_ eleven in the morning on a Tuesday, so most people would be at work.

In front of him was a large halfmoon shaped dark wood desk, and sitting on top was a rather Muggle-looking (although vintage) cash register. On all four walls of the shop were glass bookcases filled with various stopper bottles of what he assumed were potions or potion ingredients. They also littered the numerous tablecloth-covered tables and every available surface, really. The shop was small but indeed impressive, lots of antique floor lamps and overhead light fixtures illuminating the space. The air smelled of warm vanilla and cinnamon, with the faint metallic smoky undertone of potion brewing. Harry was taken back to his school days of Potions class in the dungeons, making mediocre concoctions under the watchful eye of Professor Snape. Harry nodded grimly at the thought of the teacher he hadn't been able to appreciate before it was too late.

Just as Harry was beginning to think he would have to sort through all of these potions by himself, a man came into the main room through a curtain covered door way, greeting him cheerfully before coming face to face with him.

Harry couldn't believe his luck.

The man standing in front of him, with long fringy blond hair and unreadable ashen eyes and a long, lanky figure, was none other than Draco Malfoy. Harry felt like jinxing himself into oblivion. He wasn't ready to face him yet, wasn't ready to own up to what he did.

"Hello," Draco said coolly, turning his back on Harry and moving to stand beside the counter. He grabbed a washcloth and began to rub at the already-spotless surface, busying his eyes and hands.

"Hi, Malfoy." Harry instantly hated himself for his voice sounding so soft and vulnerable. He cleared his throat and tried again. "So, you work here." Saying and doing stupid things seemed to be the only thing Harry could do today. Or ever.

"Obviously." Draco's tone was bitter and snarky. "What can I help you with?"

Harry coughed, suddenly embarrassed that he'd have to discuss his issues with the one person he was trying to avoid. "Well, see, I've been having some issues—,"

"Such as?" Draco paused his work to raise one eyebrow at the raven-haired boy, who seemed to be stumbling over his words.

"Well, I mean, it's not serious or anything, so really I probably don't need anything at all, it's just my friend sent me here and-,"

"Spit it  _out_ , Potter."

"I've been struggling with depression."

Draco fell silent, his heart and snappy comebacks both falling to the floor. The blonde found he could not look at the boy who was obviously mollified to admit that to him. Instead Draco decided to say nothing, but moved around the desk and walked over to the glass bookcase on the left of the room, eyes scanning the bottles there and trying not to notice the deafening silence filling the shop. "Do you have nightmares?"

Harry didn't answer, so he turned to him. The boy was looking at him, still sheepish, red coloring his cheeks. He nodded once and cast his gaze toward the floor. Draco grabbed a tall, skinny purple flask and a rather large green bottle. He handed Harry both.

"The purple one is for nightmares. Take two teaspoons every night before you go to bed. They should decrease and eventually stop as long as you keep taking it. The other is for the depression. Those are actually tablets, so you can put them in your morning tea every day. It should help perk you up and make you feel more . . ."

"Alive?" Harry suggested half-heartedly. He gathered the bottles in one arm and took out his coin purse with the other hand. "How much do I owe you?"

Draco shook his head, lips pursed. "It's on the house," he said softly.

Harry looked at him, an irritated expression flicking through his emerald eyes. "I don't want your charity. How much?"

"None for the Savior." Draco turned his back on him. "Your money's no good here. Come back if you need refills, Harry."

The use of his first name made the boy wince. "Don't call me that."

Draco whirled around. "What? Harry?"

"No. Savior. I hate it."

"How about Boy-Who-Lived-Twice?"

"That's just ridiculously long."

"Boy-Who-Lived-Then-Died-Then-Lived-Again?"

"What was the point of this conversation again?"

Malfoy laughed, and Harry was surprised at how pleasant the sound was. "Good to see you joking around, Harry. That's a good sign."

"A good sign of  _what_?"

Draco's smile was faint. "Of healing. Don't you think I know what you went through during the war? Your life was a living hell. No one expected you to come out of it alive, never mind actually vanquish him. Of  _course_ your mind isn't right now. No one blames you, Harry, and it's nothing to be ashamed of."

Harry, feeling suddenly like a little kid, scuffed the floor with the toe of his trainer. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Draco's voice was still gentle.

"For the other day. What I did was completely selfish and arrogant. If I hurt you in any way, I'm sorry. It seemed like a real shitty thing to do after what you did for me. I shouldn't have just left like that."

"I forgive you."

"Really?" Harry couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "I thought you hated me."

Draco moved slowly back in front of the desk, leaning against it with the heels of his hands resting on the surface. His pale hair fell in front of his eyes, partially obscuring them from Harry's view as their gazes met. "I don't hate you Harry. Quite the opposite, actually."

The words Harry had been able to say died on his tongue after he processed this statement. "I still don't understand . . .when?"

Draco seemed unabashed. "It was after school. I didn't go to Hogwarts for my Seventh year either, and I began to realize I missed you. I missed taunting you, but more than that, I missed just being  _around_ you. I recognized you, you know. That day when the Snatchers brought you to my house and your face was jinxed. I could clearly tell it was you. I said I didn't know because Voldemort would have been called right there on the spot. I wanted you to fight him where you would stand even a miniscule chance of winning. I was always rooting for you, Harry. I was always hoping good would triumph over evil. Even if it meant I would go down in the process."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, pulling gently. "I had no idea. Your motives always seemed beyond me. I could never quite figure out what you wanted, from me, from anyone. I thought you were just . . ."

"Evil. I know. I don't blame you. I was evil. We were mortal enemies, Harry. Complete opposites in every regard. You were kind and self-sacrificing, while I was arrogant and selfish. You were brave and I was scared. You were the light and I was the darkness. I loved you because you are everything I'm not."

Harry's stomach curled up at the mention of the L-word. Harry hadn't even come to terms with being gay yet, and here Draco was, and he  _wanted_ him. More than he wanted anything in his life. But something held him back. Draco took a step forward, toward Harry. Harry froze, unsure of what to do. He didn't want to stop Draco's advances, but he also didn't want this to go further than it already had.

He held up a hand and Draco stopped. "I'm sorry. I just have a lot to deal with right now. I didn't even really know that I was . . . _you know_  . . . until a couple days ago. I can't add this to my list of problems-,"

" _Problems_? What, because me loving you is some sort of  _inconvenience_? I love you, Harry Potter, but that doesn't mean there aren't other people I can give my love to. If you're not willing to at least  _try_ to be with me, and let me help you, then there's no sense in me waiting for you. Obviously I'm wasting my time with you. Get out of my shop."

Guilt sank in Harry like a rock. "Draco, I'm sorry-,"

"Go." There was obvious hurt in his voice. "Just leave."

Harry gathered his things and walked away from the shop, inexplicable tears clouding his sight and making it hard for him to breath. He shook his head and tried to gather enough of himself to Apparate home.


	3. Three

" _ **I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any evil or misfortune in the world."**_

―  _ **Charles Dickens**_

* * *

"He told me he loved me."

Ron and Hermione's twin looks of shock were enough to put a smile on Harry's face. It may also have been partially due to the fact that the tablets he'd been given for depression made him extra-sensitive to emotions in the mornings. Harry twirled his spoon in his cup of tea absently, providing a distraction from the awkward tension.

It was Hermione who finally spoke. "And?" she half-whispered, her hand moving from under the table to grip Ron's reflexively. Harry couldn't help but notice a diamond glittering on her left hand.

"Hermione . . . what's that?"

She looked down at her hand, covering it immediately. The guilt in her brown eyes was evident. "Nothing. Harry, look, this is about you, and-,"

"Are you engaged?" Harry interrupted.

Hermione and Ron exchanged brief looks before Ron looked back at his friend and nodded. "I proposed a few nights ago. We were going to tell you, really we were, but you seemed so caught up in this Malfoy stuff that we thought we'd let you sort it out before letting you know."

Bitterness rose in Harry's throat, and he tried to swallow it down. "I'm really happy for you guys. Really. It's great."

Hermione reached out to touch his arm. "Harry . . ."

"No, Mione, it's fine."

"And you know you're going to be best man, don't you mate?"

This news did little to lighten Harry's suddenly dark mood. "Don't you think George should do it? Or Bill or Charlie?"

Ron looked confused, his eyebrows pulling together. "Harry, mate, what's gotten into you? I thought those pills were working for you, and-,"

"Well they're not!" Harry burst out. "Instead of feeling depressed, all I feel is angry. I get worked up over the littlest thing and then I explode. The nightmares have stopped but I still don't feel like myself." He began to calm down. "I'm sorry. I'm really happy for you, honestly. I'd be honored to be your best man, Ron."

His best mate clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Harry."

Excitement lit up Hermione's eyes, knowing Harry's mood had changed and the atmosphere of the conversation had become less intense. "So, Malfoy loves you, huh?" Her grin was positively gleeful at the prospect of this piece of gossip.

"I'm not so sure," Harry answered with a shake of his head. "I went to the shop like you suggested, and he was working there-,"

"Wait a minute," Ron interjected. "Malfoy was  _working_?"

"And so I told him what the problem was. Then I apologized for the other day at the Manor, and he told me."

Hermione leaned in closer to him, her face uncomfortably close from across the table. "What did he say?" Her tone was hushed, so as not to ruin the suspense.

"Something about how he didn't hate me, and how after school when we weren't . . . fighting, I guess, he said that he missed it. Us. That rivalry. I guess his feelings developed from there."

Hermione's smile had gotten impossibly wider, and Ron made a noise of disgust. "How do we know he's not just playing Harry for something?"

Harry nodded at Ron, knowing he had a good point.

"And how do you feel about him?" Hermione asked, pointedly ignoring her fiancé.

Harry looked into Hermione's eyes and knew she saw right through him. "I don't know," he lied, casting his eyes downward.

"Harry James Potter," Hermione scolded him, and Harry jumped at the sound of his full name. "Now just listen a minute. You run into this man on the street, after a lifetime's worth of hatred and fighting behind you, go to his house, get into his bed then storm out, and he still loves you? Sounds pretty real to me."

"But . . ." Harry felt himself floundering for words. "This is  _Malfoy._ Who tortured us all mercilessly since First year. Who is a former  _Death Eater_. Who is deceitful and cruel and evil-,"

"You don't really believe that, Harry. I know you don't."

"I know. I just can't stop thinking about him. About that kiss, about his body-,"

"We don't need to hear the graphic details," Ron cut in.

Harry felt a blush spread to his cheeks. "Sorry."

"Harry, it sounds like you're in love."

"But I don't  _want_ to love him, Hermione. We're too different, we come from different sides of the universe. It'll never work out."

She was quiet for a moment. "What are you afraid of, Harry?"

The question caught him off guard.  _Everything_. "Nothing."

"Everyone's afraid of something, mate. It's a part of life." Harry and Hermione both glanced at Ron with shocked expressions. "What?" he shrugged. "It's true."

Hermione blinked her shock away. "Anyway, I know you get scared, Harry. The world is a terrifying place. Nobody knows what it's like to be vulnerable more than you do. You  _died_ , Harry, to protect the people you love. You gave up your life, without a word of complaint, because you accepted it as your destiny, and that took more courage than most people could even imagine. You are brave, Harry, but that doesn't make you invincible."

"I'm afraid of breaking." Harry was surprised by the honesty in his own words. "I'm afraid of giving him something that I'll never get back. I'm too fragile to love someone right now, Hermione. I'm holding back because I don't want to lose everything and just become this . . . shell of a person. There's so little left in me that risking something means risking  _everything_. And I'm not ready to do that again."

Hermione stood, walking around the table to place her arms around Harry's shoulders. She spoke softly into his shoulder. "Okay," she murmured, rubbings his biceps soothingly. "It's okay."

A tear escaped Harry's eye, and he let it fall into his lap. He knew crying would fix nothing, but it felt like just the emotional release that he needed, and he allowed himself to break down for a few minutes. He knew it wouldn't be enough – nothing really would, not after what he'd been through during the war. Harry tended to avoid any sort of display of physical weakness, because people still saw him as a hero. He wished he could be that person. Or anything other than what he was now.

"Just remember," Hermione said quietly into his ear, "all of the people you lost. All the people you loved who you'll never be able to get back. They were taken from you and that's not fair. Your parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Lupin, even Hedwig – all loved you, Harry, and would have wanted you to be happy. But you're not. And Draco has the potential to  _make_ you happy. You just need to give him a chance. Don't let go of someone else you love because you're afraid of losing them."

Harry nodded, more tears threatening to spill over his cheeks. Hermione quickly pecked him on the lips before standing behind Ron's chair. "We really should be going, Harry. We have to meet Mrs. Weasley to begin wedding planning." The wince in Hermione's expression was evident. "We'd invite you along, but I know you won't want to come. See you soon, Harry. And remember what I said."

Harry stood to see his guests out, suddenly guilty he'd shut them out for so long. Being alone didn't suit Harry – now that he remembered what human company felt like, he began to crave it. They visited more often as per Harry's request, but they all knew Harry needed more than just friends. He needed  _someone_ , who he could love and rely on to support him.

Pleasantries were exchanged, and Harry made to close the door behind his friends, before a small owl swooped into the room. It was nondescript, tawny and almost round, a letter attached to its leg. Eyebrows furrowed, Harry plucked it off the bird and unrolled it, beginning to read.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Although it was very difficult to find an address for you, I hope and expect that this letter will reach you promptly. An owl has been purchased for you as a gift in my store. Because we cannot transfer live cargo via an owl, I request that you stop by the store at your earliest convenience to pick up your bird._

_Wishing you well,_

_Claudius Eeylops  
Eeylops Owl Emporium_

Harry stared in shock at the letter for a few moments, wondering whether this could potentially be a prank. The seal and signature had seemed official, but who would buy him an owl? And why wouldn't they deliver it in person?

There was only one way to find out.

Harry tipped the owl, who flew out the open window near the back of the house. Hurriedly Harry rushed about the house, tidying his hair and brushing his teeth again, knowing a casual meeting with his friends was nothing compared to another outing in Diagon Alley, after he'd seen the frenzy that occurred last time. Harry grabbed the green bottle of pills, thinking he might as well take them back to the potions store, knowing they weren't having the effect he desired. Harry pulled on his trainers incorrectly in his excitement, having switched them by mistake. Harry Floo-ed directly to the Owl Emporium, both because he was anxious and because he wanted to avoid the masses of people.

Harry tumbled out of the fireplace, wiping soot from his jeans and previously-clean T shirt. The shop was large and filled with birdcages and the smell of bird feces. Harry crinkled his nose, glancing around before his eyes fell upon Claudius Eeylops, the owner of the store, who was a very small man with wispy white hair and kind eyes.

"Harry Potter!" he exclaimed, waddling over to envelop Harry (or, more correctly, Harry's torso) in a tight hug. "So nice to see you. I trust your letter arrived?"

Harry nodded, a breath of exhilaration leaving his body, his body quivering in anticipation at the thought of having another owl.

"Well fantastic! I'll have your owl brought right out to you, stay here for a moment!" The enthusiastic man rushed into the back behind a solid oak door. Harry spent a few moments wandering the store and interacting with birds of various temperaments, before the creak of the door swinging open signaled to him that the owner had come back with his bird. Harry turned and looked around expectantly—

But it wasn't Mr. Eeylops he saw. In front of him, carrying a large covered bird cage, stood Draco Malfoy, looking pleased and not at all surprised to see him. "Hello Harry," he said warmly.

Harry was bewildered. A matter of days ago, this man had banished him from his shop and told him he didn't want anything to do with him, and now this? "Do you work  _here_ , too?"

Draco chuckled, shaking his blond hair into his face. "No, I just run the potions shop. I'm here to give you this." He extended the birdcage toward Harry, who took it tentatively.

"Why would you need to be here to give me this?"

Draco rolled his dark gray eyes back into his head. "Because it's from  _me,_ you dolthead. I bought you the owl."

Harry's eyes widened as he acknowledged Draco's words. "Oh."  _Why?_ crossed Harry's mind, but instead of asking, he pulled the slip off the bird cage . . .

And almost dropped it in his surprise. Within the iron bars of the cage, staring back at him with large golden eyes, was the snowy owl he'd seen in the window on his previous visit to Diagon Alley. There was the black streak on its beak, the only thing differentiating the bird from Hedwig. Harry's eyes promptly welled up with tears, feeling for a moment that he'd gotten back one of the things he'd loved so dearly and lost. Hedwig was his companion when the Dursleys had held him prisoner, was sometimes his only connection to the outside world. Maybe this bird could never be her, and would never replace her, but it was close.

"Why?" Harry's voice was thick with emotion and he instantly felt embarrassed, but Draco just stroked his cheek with his thumb.

"Because I know you loved your bird. And you lost her."

"But  _why?"_ Harry looked up into Draco's eyes, expecting an answer there. But his expression was unreadable as ever.

"I want to give you everything, Harry, don't you realize that? I want to give you back your parents and your friends and your  _life._ But I can't. And I can't stand to see you so unhappy and so jaded. You're fading away, Harry, and no one seems to be doing anything about it. But I want to  _help_ you, in any way I can. I figured I could start with giving you your bird back. Maybe he's not perfect, but it's a start." Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "Please let me help you put your life back together. Please."

Harry lowered his head, unable to look into Draco's pleading eyes. The bird cooed softly, still staring at him with wide eyes. A flood of emotions filled his body, over the fact that Draco had bought him an owl because he wanted to help him get over the loss of Hedwig, and because Draco so wanted to help.

"Okay," Harry agreed, glancing up at Draco's face above his. "But I want to be friends."

Draco immediately faltered. "But, Harry-,"

"Friends or nothing, Draco. Take it or leave it."

Draco contemplated it a moment before extending his hand. "Friends."

"Friends," Harry agreed, reaching out to shake his hand.

Harry only dropped the act when he was back home in bed, crying his heart out under the covers where no one could see him fall apart.

 


	4. Four

Harry awoke with a start, jolting his body into a sitting position and causing a head rush in the process. He winced, feeling the effects of the sleeping pills still draining his system away. He knew he couldn't have been asleep for more than a couple hours.

Surely enough, as he cast tempus with his wand, it read 4:35 am. He groaned, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to expel the ache that was slowly but surely presenting itself in the front of his mind. Blearily, Harry rubbed his eyes and felt around for his glasses on his bedside table, stretching and cracking his back. It wasn't yet dawn, and the sky outside was still a dark blue tinged with light gray at the horizon, a smattering of stars providing the only light present in the absence of the moon. It didn't seem right, thought Harry, that the stars could still exist even if the moon didn't shine.

A loud crash broke through his thoughts, reminding Harry of how he had woken up to a loud sound coming from downstairs. Harry swung his legs over and leapt out of bed, meaning to be stealthy, but ended up knocking over the framed picture he had of his parents. Thankfully, it didn't break, and Harry's fingers lingered on their faces longer than normal before placing it back on the shelf. Wand at ready, Harry crept down the stairs, the creaking of them loud under his feet. Thankfully, the portrait of Mrs. Black hadn't been awoken by the sounds, Harry guessed, because of the soft snoring noises coming from behind the curtains. Harry pressed his back up against the wall next to the door leading to the kitchen, where the crash had originated from. Slowly, Harry peered into the open doorway, wand poised in front of him to jinx whomever had broken into the house.

What he saw was the opposite of what he expected. Draco Malfoy stood in his dark and cluttered kitchen, tending to a frying pan which was magically flipping bacon, while he poured hot water into two mugs for tea. Harry stood there for a moment, bemused, and also a little amused at the sight in front of him. While he hadn't the faintest clue what Draco was doing in his house so early in the morning, or how he'd even gotten in, the sight of him in an apron doing something as domestic as  _cooking_  was something Harry found very humorous. Draco looked like he was focusing very hard, biting his lower lip in concentration as he swirled a spatula through some unbeaten eggs in a smaller pan. Harry couldn't stifle his laugh at this, alerting to Draco his presence and causing the blond to jolt, the spatula falling out of his hand and some of the eggs flying out of the pan onto the stove.

"Merlin, Potter, you scared the living daylights out of me. Don't you know not to sneak up on people like that?" Draco muttered, clutching his chest in a mock-heart attack.

"And don't you know not to sneak into people's houses at four thirty in the morning and bang around in their kitchen?" Harry asked him, arms crossed.

Draco looked down in embarrassment, the tips of his ears coloring, something that very much reminded Harry of Ron. He was about to point out the comparison, knowing it would irk Draco to no end to have something in common with a Weasley, but Draco spoke very quietly. "I was making you breakfast."

Harry's eyebrows shot up on their own accord. "Really? I couldn't tell."

Draco shot him the filthiest of looks, reminding Harry of how he'd been in their school days. "I've never cooked before, and I don't really know any sort of domestic spells. That's why I have a house elf."

"Well, you're doing it all wrong," Harry said, stepping into the kitchen and taking charge at the stove. "First of all, these eggs need to be scrambled in order to be scrambled eggs," he instructed, pulling out a fork from the drawer and proceeding to whip the eggs into a liquid substance. "Then you turn on the fire and move them around until they're cooked." Harry ignited the burner and picked up the spatula, beginning to move the eggs around in the pan. "The bacon looks good though," he commented, the strong smell of bacon doing something to lift his spirits.

If Draco could have kicked himself out of embarrassment, he would've. "Sorry I woke you. I didn't really know where anything was, and I dropped a plate." The Slytherin could feel Harry's eyes on him, and he pointedly looked anywhere else, feeling like an idiot and regretting he'd bothered at all.

"That's alright," Harry replied, stifling yet another yawn. "I probably would've woken up soon anyway," he lied. "I'm an early riser. Why exactly are you here, again?"

"Oh, right." Draco felt his cheeks heat despite his best efforts to remain cool. "I just wanted to surprise you. Do something nice for you. Because we're friends now, and all."

"You already did something nice for me, remember?" Harry reminded him. "You bought me a  _bird_. Which was very generous of you, by the way. And I don't mind the food, honestly, but why so early?" Harry was usually nowhere near functional this early in the day. "I need some serious caffeine," he muttered to himself.

"We're going out today," Draco informed him.

Harry's eyes narrowed, looking back at the taller man. "We're  _going out_?"

Draco's stormy grey eyes widened. "No, not like that. We're taking a daytrip."

Harry eyed him curiously, tearing off a piece of fatty bacon from a long strip and popping it into his mouth. "Oh? And am I allowed to ask where we're going?"

Draco smiled slyly, his fingers drumming the island countertop. "It's a surprise."

"You're just full of surprises. I hate it," Harry said jokingly, turning back to the food. "Grab some plates? They're in that cabinet—," he pointed to the correct one, "—and two forks." Harry dished out the eggs and divided up the bacon, while Draco fixed the tea. "Three sugars, no milk," Harry told him.

_I know_ , Draco wanted to reply, but he kept his mouth shut, presenting Harry with the beverages. Harry took his immediately, sipping it and smiling, finally having the hot liquid to comfort and awaken him. Maybe it wasn't magical tea, but it did help with the remaining effects of the sleeping pills and to perk him up just a bit more.

Harry was amazed at the way things had progressed in just a short period of time, suddenly realizing how odd it was to be having Draco eating breakfast with him in his own home, not fighting or stressing or calling each other names like they did in school. Harry knew how different he had become after the War, and after what he went through with Voldemort, but Draco was a completely changed person as well. Not being evil did wonderful things for his complexion, and also his disposition, which had become lighter and freer and not so burdened with the pressure to please and protect his family. The War had caused them – not just Harry and Draco, but everyone involved – to grow up faster than they ordinarily would, exposing them at such a young age to the greatest horrors the Wizarding world had ever witnessed. Though most of the fighting was localized to England and the immediate surrounding area, Harry knew that wizards all over the world were affected by Voldemort's reign of terror. He received letters on a daily basis, sent to his PO box, postmarked from every country around the globe, the writers expressing his or her gratitude for how much he contributed to the war effort. Harry usually grimaced at these letters, throwing them aside, a sick feeling growing in his stomach at the thought of disappointing all those people by not becoming the successful adult he was meant to be. Instead he was holed up in a dingy ancient house, which reminded him every day of his dead godfather, feeling sorry for himself and wishing his life wasn't so hard. Harry knew it was piteous, and that he had no excuse to act that way. The war was over, people were well, the population was booming. And it was all because of him. And he found that he still could not take credit for it. No matter what people said, how many times they thanked him, Harry still felt the heaviness in his chest, the sense of looming danger that he could never seem to repress. There was no one to be afraid of anymore – no more Dursleys, or Death Eaters, or Umbridge or Fudge or Snape or Voldemort – but Harry Potter had been afraid his entire life. He simply did not know how to stop.

"—excited?" Draco asked him, looking up from his eggs to meet Harry's eyes.

Harry blinked, coming back down to earth. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you excited? About where I'm taking you?" His tone was insistent but not impatient.

"Oh," Harry said. "I'm not really sure. Depends on where you're taking me. Give me a hint?"

Draco smirked and shook his head slightly, pushing his food around with his fork. "You've been there before. That's all I'll say."

Harry rolled his eyes, the sheer number of possibilities as to where it could be made it impossible to list. "That's characteristically vague," he said irritably, but smiled despite himself. "Why do we have to leave so early?"

Draco grinned. "Because we're taking the train in."

* * *

And that's how Harry Potter found himself, two hours later, sitting on a Muggle train, the bleak English countryside flashing by outside the window, light smatterings of rain making it foggy and slick. Harry settled back in to the plush seats, now appreciative of the fact that Draco had bought them first class tickets. Draco hadn't said anything for a while, but there was a hint of a smile on his face that made him look like he was remembering something funny.

"What is it? Why do you look so happy?" Harry questioned him, suddenly suspicious. "Is this a prank?"

Draco chortled under his breath. "No, nothing like that. Just happy," he said shortly.

Harry looked around, wondering what he had to be happy about. It wasn't even seven o'clock in the morning yet, it was rainy and damp, the cabin was chilly and neither of them had brought jumpers, and the train ride was too bumpy to even begin to consider sleep. "Okay," he replied sarcastically, dismissing it. He felt Draco's eyes trained on him, and instead of avoiding his gaze, Harry looked up and met those cool dark eyes with his own. The moment was intense but not awkward, the same electricity jumping between them as it had on the first day, back at Malfoy Manor. Harry was promptly reminded of what occurred between the two of them that day, feeling properly embarrassed, wondering how the two of them had discarded that and pretended it never happened. Harry's thoughts were drawn back to what Malfoy had said that day, crooned those sweet words into his ears, and it became all too much. Harry forcibly pushed those thoughts from his mind, knowing it was inappropriate to think of Draco in that way now, because they were friends and that was all Harry wanted, all he could stand at that moment.

"Are we going to Hogwarts?" Harry asked idly, picking at a stray thread in his pullover.

Draco laughed. "No, I wish."

"Really?"

"What?" His pale eyebrows came together, his face twisting rather adorably.

"You miss it?" The question was more loaded than Harry intended it to be, and Draco picked up on it.

"Of course I do. It was the one place I really felt safe."

"Me too," Harry muttered, flooded with a sudden nostalgia for the place he had called home for so many years. "I wish I'd gone back to complete my Seventh year with the rest of them. It wouldn't have been the same, without Dumbledore, but it would still be Hogwarts." Harry was silent for a moment, remember the professor who had passed on tragically. "Did you ever learn that I was there that night?"

"Which night?"

Harry's eyes came to rest on Draco's, looking at him sadly. "The night Dumbledore died. I was there, hiding under my cloak. I saw you raise your wand at him, heard you talk. You didn't do it."

Draco's eyes filled with sadness and regret. "I would have. I was more frightened in that moment than I had ever been in my life previously, but I would have done it if Snape—," Draco's voice broke, "—If Snape hadn't come when he did."

"You had a hard lot, Malfoy. Nobody blamed you. Voldemort would have killed you if you hadn't done it."

"No," Draco disagreed, shaking his head furiously, soft threads of blonde hair falling into his eyes. "I was a coward. I was too afraid to stand up for myself, too afraid to seek help for my family and for myself. I was a proud little git, and I didn't want to seem weak. When the Order extended their protection for my mother and father and I, it seemed almost too good to be true. I wanted to believe it, but I know my family did some pretty awful things, and I couldn't be positive that they wouldn't just kill us on the spot. I couldn't just turn my family in so easily – I was arrogant, and I believed I could protect them myself. And in the end that's what almost got me killed."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Been there."

"What . . ." Draco started, trailing off. Harry raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, and Draco proceeded. "What actually happened, to you? When you were fighting him? I've heard rumors, but I never actually knew . . ."

"I died," Harry said promptly. "I actually died. I went to where Voldemort was in the Forbidden Forest and I let him kill me. I passed on into a great white room, which looked like King's Cross, and Dumbledore was there. We talked, and he told me I had a decision to make. I could stay there, in that white room, until I moved on into the afterlife, or I could go back into my earthly body, basically. Everything was kind of hazy, I don't remember it that well. I just remember feeling very lost and unsure of what to do. But I made it back to my body. Your mother found me, was asked to check to make sure I was dead. She knew I was alive, but I gave her information. About you," Harry added, gesturing in Draco's direction. The boy in turn looked very surprised. "I told her you were alive, and she proclaimed me dead. And then Hagrid carried me out of the woods, and Neville destroyed the last Horcrux. And then we fought, Voldemort and I. And I won."

"Wait, wait," Draco said, the information he'd just received reeling in his mind. "You let him kill you?"

"Yes."

"How'd you gather the courage to just walk to your death?"

"Ever hear of the Deathly Hallows?"

Draco nodded. "Of course I have. Every Wizarding child has. It's a classic fairytale."

"It's not a story," Harry corrected him. "The three Deathly Hallows are real. I had the Resurrection Stone, and I used it to summon the people I loved who had died. The ghosts of my parents and godfather and Lupin gave me enough strength to go."

"Wow," Draco said, a little stunned. "That's a little hard to believe. So, the Invisibility Cloak from the story . . ."

"Is mine, yes."

The blonde boy whistled low in his throat. "How did you survive the killing curse the second time?"

That question was one Harry had been expecting. "The night Voldemort killed my parents, he unknowingly created a Horcrux – in me. In order to destroy me, he had to destroy the Horcrux first. What died that night was the piece of Voldemort's soul that was lodged in my body."

Draco shuddered, the horrible thought passing through his body, raising goosebumps on his arms. "I'm so sorry, Harry," he said. Harry believed he really meant it. "I'm glad you won."

He'd said it before, but Harry truly felt the conviction in his words now, because they weren't tainted with any feeling other than relief.

"Me too," Harry whispered.

They rode the rest of the journey in a respectful silence, each absorbing what the other had said and connecting without speaking. Harry stared out the window most of the time, as they passed through boring countrysides and nondescript small villages. Harry saw nothing he recognized, didn't even know what direction they were heading, but he trusted Draco to keep him safe.

The train came to an abrupt stop more quickly than Harry imagined. From what he could see, they weren't really anywhere, and he couldn't fathom why there'd be a train station in the middle of nowhere, but Draco was standing and collecting his belongings, so Harry made to follow him. They exited the train and found themselves on a platform. The station itself was small, harboring only a restroom and a ticket window. The two of them exited the platform onto a narrow unpaved path, winding through some trees and over a hill. Harry's eyebrows knitted together, but he stayed silent, following Draco along the path. He seemed to know where he was going, and they both stumbled over the loose rocks that gave them poor footing. Then Draco strayed from the path, veering off to the left and Harry began to grow worried, but they apparently reached what Draco was looking for. It seemed to Harry that it was just an old tree, the wide trunk and limbs gnarled with age. Draco pulled out his wand and tapped the tree in various places, and just like the brick wall entrance to Diagon Alley, the tree transformed into a portal, which Draco pushed Harry through unceremoniously, following close behind. Harry was sucked up into a black vacuum of space, stealing his breath and squeezing his chest, before he was placed back on his feet, on considerably more solid ground. Draco came out behind him, nearly knocking Harry over in the process. Dusting off his jeans, he gestured to Harry, and they walked over a tall hill, Harry still very confused as to where they were going and what had just happened.

But then he was met with the most magnificent sight. There, just down the hill and a little to the right, was a wrought-iron gate, Godric's Hollow scrolling across the top in gleaming gold, like a beacon in the foggy morning air. Harry felt himself go numb, not from the cold but from the memories seeping into his mind – the Peverell grave, the snake, his wand snapping . . . The memories he had of this place weren't pleasant, and he didn't think he'd ever want to go back. But now that he was here with Draco, Harry felt more secure, and more willing to face the demons of his past.

Harry looked back at Draco, wanting to say something but not possessing the words to express how he felt. Instead, he took the other man's hand and squeezed it briefly, before traipsing down the hill toward the gate. Draco followed suit, pleased with the reaction that Harry had given him. Harry hurried to the gate, surprised to find a gatekeeper at the entrance.

"How may I help you," the man drawled, not looking up from his Prophet.

"I'd like to, er . . ." Harry hesitated. "Enter?"

"No one enters unless they live in the village or have written permission to enter," the man replied, repeating a speech he'd probably made a thousand times. He flicked to another page in the paper and kept reading.

"Um . . ." Harry said, bewildered. Why would anyone need express permission to enter? Why was it so protected?

"They put wards around the village after the War. It became a sort of tourist attraction, with so many of the Order's graves located there. Let me handle it," Draco murmured into Harry's ear. The blond haughtily turned his attention to the gatekeeper. "Please open the gate."

The man finally looked up, not at all impressed by Draco's menacing stature. "Do you have permission?"

Draco growled – actually growled – and grabbed Harry. "Is this permission enough?" And the gatekeeper looked at Harry, his eyes widening immediately in recognition.

"Mr. Potter!" the gatekeeper exclaimed, jumping to his feet and bending in half, giving Harry what could only be described as a bow. "Please forgive me, sir, I had no idea, no idea, I would never—,"

Harry raised a hand to silence the man. "I just wish to visit my parents' graves. Please let us pass."

The gatekeeper nearly tripped over his own feet trying as fast as he could to get to the gate and unlock it for them, murmuring _alohomora_  followed by a whispered password that Harry didn't hear. The gates shined despite the absence of the sun behind the clouds and they swung open inward. The gatekeeper was still muttering apologies and Draco and Harry swept past him into the center of the village of Godric's Hollow.

It was exactly how Harry remembered: a main strip of housing and shops, with winding cobblestone paths leading up to houses further up on the hills. The village was quaint, but not small; it had become a popular place of relative sanctuary during the War, and it seemed nearly untouched. Few people were out at this time of morning, mostly those who had small dogs to walk, errands to run, or places to be. Harry rubbed his hands together, feeling them chap in the brisk morning wind. Draco tapped them gently with his wand, and a heating charm made its way up his hands and arms into the core of his body. He instantly felt better. Harry set off down the cobblestone street, skirting around a large stone statue of his likeness that he tried very hard to ignore. He felt more than heard Draco's presence behind him, the rhythmic scuff of his trainers against the stones below his feet soothing Harry's inexplicable nerves.

The graveyard was easy enough to find, situated beside a small church towards the center of the square. The last time Harry had visited, it had been winter, a soft layer of snow covering everything, but now it was spring, and someone had apparently been landscaping. Patches of colorful flowers adorned the graves, along with the flowers loved ones had obviously recently placed there. Harry felt suddenly sad he had nothing to put on his parents' grave, until Draco cleared his throat and produced a bouquet of lilies (no doubt for his mom, at which Harry couldn't keep his eyes from watering) and handed them to him. He found their marker, a weathered wood square with a gilded inscription Harry could have recited in his sleep. He saw the now familiar scrawls of other witches and wizards surrounding the dedication, vows of dedication to Harry and wishing him the best, all in Everlasting Ink. Harry thumbed over the words, remembering not for the first time how much his parents sacrificed to keep him alive. Some of the messages on the wood were new, Harry could tell: they thanked Harry for what he did and wished him every happiness under the sun. He placed the lilies on the ground in front of the headstone, among the others that had been thoughtfully placed there. Harry looked over his shoulder briefly, but Draco was keeping a cool distance, wandering toward the other end of the small cemetery. Thankful for the moment alone, Harry recalled the last time he saw his parents, besides this morning in the frame. At that time, when Harry summoned their ghosts, he'd been scared and needing of someone to help guide him through the pain. His dad had looked so much like himself that it was painful, his mother so beautiful he could cry. And that's what he did. Tears slipped down his cheeks and fell into the grass below his feet, and Harry let them go. The pain swelled in him like a tsunami tide, and he rode out the storm of grief, his body trembled and wracked with sobs. Just when he felt like the waves of loss and agony would overtake him, drown him, it washed away and left him feeling exposed but dry. Harry had never known his parents, couldn't recall any of his own memories of them, would never know the kind of people they were. He would never get to love them the way he so desperately wanted to. He would never go to his father for advice, his mother would never see her grandchildren, should Harry choose to have any. They died in the most tragically heroic and pointless way, betrayed by a friend they so blindly trusted. It was so senseless, their deaths were so unnecessary, and yet Harry accepted the truth of the matter. They were gone, and they were in a better place. They were in the brilliant white world beyond the train station, and one day when Harry was ready, he would join them. They would be reunited in the best possible way, and Harry would be healed, because there is no hurting in the afterlife. Only bliss.

Harry stood then, not even realizing he'd dropped to his knees, to find Draco's gaze resting on him. He looked up, a small smile crossing his features as he laugh-sobbed, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his sweater. Harry walked over to where Draco was standing, hands shoved into his pockets, face carefully arranged into an unreadable blankness. "Thank you," Harry whispered into the cool spring air. "I needed this."

Draco nodded, sympathy softening his slate grey eyes.

"But how did you know?"

"I just knew you needed closure," Draco said, lifting his arm as if to touch Harry and then dropping it back to his side. "I figured we'd start where you needed it the most."

Harry sniffed, drying his eyes with the opposite sleeve. "I think I'm okay now. And what do you mean, start?"

Draco smirked then, a wicked smirk that Harry hadn't seen in a long time. "Oh, I'm just getting started."

 


	5. Five

Harry couldn't help but repeat Draco's words over and over again in his head.  _We're just getting started_. Though he tried to suppress it, a tremble of excitement shot down his spine, coiling in his stomach with anticipation. He glanced over at his companion, who was striding purposefully through the narrow streets of Godric's Hollow, clearly on a mission to get somewhere fast. Harry took his distraction to covertly admire him: the pointed nose and chin, the cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and flushed from the biting cold, the slate grey eyes that always seemed to be hiding something, the pale strands of hair peeking out from under his grey knit cap. His neck was exposed, a smooth column of flesh and veins that Harry felt himself itching to bite into. Instead, he offered up his scarf, and though it was the scarlet and gold of Gryffindor house, Draco accepted it gratefully, winding it around his neck and immediately feeling the warmth of it. Harry turned up the collar on his wool coat to protect his neck and ears, shoving his hands in his pockets and once again taking in his surroundings.

Harry could very easily see the appeal of living in the village. It had an old-world charm, with ancient buildings only held up by magic, and towering houses with colorful accents that made it look like something out of a storybook. It took Harry back to winter, when he'd been here with Hermione to look for Bathilda Bagshot, and remembered how beautiful it looked with the snow falling and the Christmas carols from just around the corner. In spring, it took on a different light, bright and overgrown with wildflowers. The houses were immaculately kept, inside as well as out Harry was sure, which was quite standard for any Wizarding town.

The two boys rounded a corner and the path split in two directions, encircling a grassy hill which was situated directly in front of where they were standing. Draco led him up the path on the right, and as they climbed over the incline, Harry began to see the remnants of a brick house that looked as if it had once caught fire and was never properly restored . . .

It was only once they'd reached the front of the house that Harry understood where they were. The sign outside provided the information that had already been processing in his head for quite some time. This was the place his parents had lived, and also where they had died at the hand of Voldemort. Where he'd tried to kill Harry and failed.

Harry placed one gloved hand on the crumbling building, running his fingers over the pits and grooves in the brick, tracing where the front door would have been. The brick turned to dust under his palm, delicate and weathered.

Harry looked back at Draco, who looked like he wanted to say something but wasn't quite sure what. Words of comfort, perhaps?

"Come with me," Harry whispered, not waiting for the blonde to make up his mind. They ducked through the archway and around a large pillar that had fallen across the entrance. Inside, everything was in shambles, rubble and dust preventing Harry and Draco from seeing anything but ruins. The walls were all mostly still standing, but the second story was long collapsed, although part of the stairs still existed. Harry put a hand over his mouth to prevent him from breathing in anything dangerous, and Draco wrapped Harry's scarf more securely around his mouth.

Harry racked his brain for any kind of recognition, anything that would help him remember the time he lived here with his parents, any kind of happy memory to help him remember the people that they were.

"Harry?" Draco said very softly, standing on the other side of what had probably been the living room. "I found something."

Harry's stomach dropped to his feet, his head suddenly spinning as he rushed to Draco's side. The other boy held up a couple sheets of torn and yellowed parchment, covered in inky scrawling cursive. Harry snatched it from Draco, not meaning to be rude but too excited to remember his manners. He began reading, the world slowly falling out from under him.

_Dear Narcissa,_

_I must ask you one favor, though it kills me to ask anything of anyone anymore, after all the help we've already received. You and I have never been friends, but neither were we enemies. Maybe you have never learned this, because you disowned any part of your Black heritage, but Dorea Black was James' mother, before she passed. Which means that my son shares your blood. I have only just acquired knowledge that you have recently had a son – congratulations – but please, think about what you would do for him. I only want the best for my Harry, and I wouldn't ask this of you if I did not think you capable, Narcissa – but James and I are in danger, I can feel it. If something should happen to both of us – God forbid – I would rest easier knowing Harry was being taken care of in the best possible way. Please, consider this and respond quickly._

_-Lily Potter_

Harry dropped the paper, and it fluttered down to the dusty floor. He followed suit quickly, collapsing onto his knees and bending over, heaving dryly as his stomach clenched. Draco knelt down beside him, rubbing his back in soothing circles, picking up the paper and reading it for himself. Harry's mind reeled and his pulse picked up, the blood pumping so hard he could hear it in his ears. He heard Draco gasp beside him and the paper rumple as he clenched his fist. "Harry," he breathed. "I had no idea."

"Makes sense, though," he muttered. "Most pure-blooded families are related in some way. Which means Sirius was related to me, too." Harry forced himself to slow down and process one bit of information at a time. "So our mothers were in contact before . . . it happened."

Draco settled down onto the floor beside him, sitting cross-legged on the bare floorboards, his head resting in his hands. He had no more answers than Harry. "She never said anything about it," he said before Harry could ask. "I didn't even know we were family."

"We're not family. We share blood, but that doesn't make us family."

"It's all so complicated," Draco sighed. "I have more relatives than I can count, some of them worse than others, but pretty much awful all around."

"Did you ever meet Sirius?" Harry said suddenly. "He would have been your . . . first cousin once removed."

"I only heard my mother talk about him, and even that was rare." Harry sneaked a peek at the other boy, who was fiddling with the laces on his shoes. "She never brought up her heritage unless it was to discuss how rubbish it was and how good I had it being a Malfoy." Draco's eyes were downcast, long eyelashes flitting over his cheeks. "I never really understood how I was lucky because I belonged to a certain family. Because I was pureblood. I was a rich child, but I was miserable."

"Just goes to show that money can't buy you everything," Harry remarked. "I had no idea I possessed a small fortune until I received my letter from Hogwarts and was informed that I was a wizard, not some freak of nature that had obtained spontaneous magical abilities. I was more excited that day about leaving my home and never looking back than I was about the gold. All I wanted was a family that loved me." He looked around at the abandoned house. "All I wanted was a home."

"Ironic, isn't it," Draco said dryly, "that I had everything you wanted, but in reverse? I had parents and a home and money and lost it all because of Voldemort and the war; you gained money from your parents and a home from Hogwarts and I know the Weasleys think of you as their own son. I've been talking to Hermione," he said by way of Harry's questioning look. "Slytherin and Gryffindor, good and evil, black and white – we're opposites. Maybe that's why we never got along in school."

"Or maybe it was because you were a pompous prat," Harry laughed, earning him a jab to the ribs. "Opposites attract, you know," he said coyly.

"Or repel," Draco countered. "Oil and vinegar will never mix, no matter how much they're shaken up."

* * *

They decided to stop for lunch in the town square, and immediately upon entering the pub people began to fall to their knees in praise of Harry, which he kindly brushed off. Harry and Draco both made to order drinks, only to find that their entire tab had been covered by a man smiling at them from across the bar, winking at Harry in a way that made his stomach churn.

"Do you ever get used to it?" Draco asked, speaking into his ear so he could be audible above the din. "People falling to the floor and worshipping you whenever you travel in public?"

Harry shrugged. "It's why I try not to go out in public."

"You came to see me," Draco remarked.

"That was different. I needed something. And I didn't go to see  _you,_ " Harry insisted. "I had no idea you worked there."

"Actually, I own it."

"What,  _Castor's_? You own it?"

Draco nodded. "My great grandfather was a potions master, and his name was Castor. I decided that I needed to make something of myself to remove myself from my father's shadow, so I opened the potions shop and named it after him. It's been a success so far, I think."

"So who runs it in your absence?"

"Pansy," Draco answered.

Harry choked on his beer. " _Pansy_? You still associate with that little asshat?"

" _Asshat?_ " Draco chortled, his face turning red as he clutched his side. "That's the best insult you can come up with?"

Harry blushed in embarrassment. "Well she is. She sold me out back at school when everyone else wanted to protect me."

"She was  _jealous,_ Potter. She's not evil," Draco scoffed, busying himself with his mojito.

"Jealous of  _what_? Getting all of Voldemort's attention, almost dying trying to save the Wizarding world, never having a normal life?"

"She was jealous because she liked me. She assumed that we would be together, because we dated in third year and because both of our families are pureblood."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, his dark eyebrows furrowing over clear emerald. "What does that have to do with me?"

Draco let out a frustrated grunt. "Merlin, Potter, you can be real thick sometimes. I didn't like Pansy because I was interested in _you._ "

"Oh." Harry suddenly felt his face grow very hot, and he unbutton his coat quickly, pulling it off his shoulders. "Right."

Draco shook his head, finishing off his drink just as Harry took another pull from his beer bottle. Draco beckoned the bartender over to get more drinks, and then turned back to Harry. "There were two pieces of paper, you know."

"Huh?"

"Back at the house. One was your mother's letter . . ." Draco pulled out Lily's letter from his coat pocket. "And one was mine's." Another, slightly less crumpled piece of parchment followed the first. Harry's eyes grew wide with shock and excitement. Draco took his mother's letter, smoothed it out on his lap, and then slid it over to Harry, who read it hungrily.

_Lily,_

_I am also fearful. The Dark Lord is growing stronger, and my family is becoming increasingly more involved in his nefarious affairs. My Draco is only a year old, and I dread the day when he might also take the Mark, as I know he will be forced to if He grows any stronger. I never asked for this – despite my blood, I do not hate Muggleborns and I do not want them killed. Lucius may be a servant of the Dark Lord, but that does not make me a sympathizer. I only want my family to be healthy and happy and safe. In these dark times, I cannot imagine how I would be able to protect your child on top of mine, when my family is already in such peril. But I swear to protect him in any way I know how, Lily, because you and James and your son are the only things I can hold on to for hope of a better future. Stay safe, and stay strong, Lily Evans. We all need courage to be able to survive. Now that we're mothers, we must have enough for two people._

_-Narcissa_

Harry felt his eyes well with tears, and nearly laughed at himself for being so emotional. This was  _Narcissa Malfoy_ , the mother of his arch nemesis. Except, he wasn't, not anymore.

"But she didn't protect you," Draco said once he realized Harry had finished reading. "That's the part I didn't understand. If she was sincere, why didn't she take you in?"

Harry already knew the answer to that. "She must have assumed, when she heard of what had happened to my parents, that I would have already been put with someone who would take good care of me. If she learned I was living with my aunt and uncle, maybe she thought that would have been the best thing for me, and didn't want to interfere with my life if she didn't have to. She did protect me, that day in the woods when she spared my life in exchange for information about yours. She paid her debt to Lily."

"I just can't believe I didn't know this about my own mother," Draco said wondrously. "It makes me wonder what other secrets could be lurking just under the surface."

"Trust me," Harry laughed shortly. "You're better off not knowing. Some things from the past need to stay that way."

Draco pondered that thought for a moment, taking advantage of the pause in conversation to order food for Harry and himself, and then turned back to him. "I'd like to hear your stories. If you'd like to tell them, that is." His eyes sparkled with hope and curiosity.

"Which ones?"

"Your travels, your adventures. I've never really, I mean . . . Mostly I just go back and forth from the Manor and work. I've never really been outside of the Wizarding world. I want to know what you saw, what you did. I know you spent most of Seventh year searching for Horcruxes; you must have had some crazy experiences."

Harry smiled, and attempted to look back at his so-called "adventures" without the emotions of angst and stress clouding them, and realized they were pretty incredible. Sure, he did some illegal things and nearly died many times, but that just came with the territory of saving the world.

So Harry agreed, and they spent time going over Harry's life or death experiences, starting with the Sorcerer's stone in First year and working up to the Horcrux hunt. Draco found the story of Harry escaping Gringott's on a dragon very exciting, and Harry had to admit that he agreed. While back then it had been something desperate and crazy, it could now be seen as thrilling and adrenaline-pumping. Harry actually found himself grinning during some recounts, including stealing the locket from Umbridge, although the story of how he destroyed it was something unpleasant to relive. The mood turned from gleeful to somber as Harry reached the story of acquiring Ravenclaw's diadem, and would have skipped over it had Draco not pointedly asked about it. Harry grimace was apparent, as he knew they were both remembering how Crabbe had lost his life in the Fiendfyre that also destroyed the Room of Requirement.

"You saved my life that day," Draco remarked.

"Yeah, but I didn't save his."

"You can't be expected to save everyone, Harry. No matter how much you want to. A lot of people died in that Battle. It wasn't your fault then, and it's not your fault now. Everyone was willing to put their lives on the line to fight for their cause – my mother and I excluded. We walked away like the cowards that we are."

"Draco, you're not a coward-,"

"I could have fought with you, Harry!" Draco's sudden outburst seemed to surprise even himself. "I could have helped. Maybe if I had helped, Crabbe would still be alive. Maybe Teddy would still have parents. Maybe the Weasley would still have his twin. I could have _done_ something, and instead I chose to walk away."

"Is that why you're helping me now?" Harry asked as it suddenly dawned on him. "To make up for when you didn't fight beside me?"

"I just feel partially responsible for the way that you are, Harry," Draco said sadly, placing his hand over the black haired boy's. It wasn't a romantic gesture; it was simply comforting. "You deserve to be happy and healthy and be admired and loved and cherished because you have sacrificed  _everything_ for the world. You deserve someone who will sacrifice  _their_ world for  _you._ "

Harry flipped his hand over so they were palm to palm, separated by two layers of gloves. He held on tight, his fingers gripping Draco's like a vice at his words. He opened his mouth to speak, and found that his voice no longer worked. He shut his mouth again. Harry shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the images Draco's words had conjured up, of a life where he  _could_ be happy with a job he was proud of and a partner he could come home to . . .  _No_ , Harry thought abruptly. He had to stop before he'd given the man he'd fabricated a face.

"Would you do that?" Harry found himself asking, though he'd forbidden himself to speak. His mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. "Would you give up everything you have for someone you love?"

Draco didn't answer him right away, his attention taken away by the arrival of their food. Just as Harry had accepted that it wouldn't be a question Draco would answer, he spoke, so quietly Harry thought maybe he hadn't really said anything at all.

"I already have."


	6. Six

"And he really  _said_ that?" Hermione's voice had taken on a scarily-high pitch in her excitement. Harry thought she would break a piece off of the table; she was clutching it so fiercely.

Harry decided he needed to talk with his friend, and because it couldn't wait, they arranged to meet during her lunch break. Walking through St. Mungo's was different from walking through other, more crowded places, because most of the people in the hospital had someplace to be, and didn't concern themselves with much else. Harry was very thankful for this fact, not knowing whether he could deal with many people on that particular day.

Hermione had been working as a junior Healer at St. Mungo's for almost a year, skipping right through the required schooling after her teachers realized it wasn't necessary; Hermione had read all the major medical textbooks during their fifth year. Harry could tell that his friend fit in well here; everyone around her was as motivated and brilliant as she was.

"Yes, Hermione," he said, loathe to have to repeat himself for the fourth time. "He really said that."

"Are you sure you weren't imagining it? Something you fabricated because you really  _wanted_ him to say something like that-,"

"No, Hermione. Those were his exact words; his lips moved, he spoke. 'I already have.' What's the big deal, anyway?"

Hermione let out a noise of total frustration, and Harry shied away from her, sinking back further into his chair. "He was talking about  _you_ , Harry! Why can't you get it into your thick skull that he's head over heels in  _love_ with you‽"

Harry backed down even more, not liking where the conversation was going. "We're related," he said meekly.

"You told me that you said yourself that you're not  _really_ family. When are you going to come to terms with your feelings and accept them for what they are?"

"And what are they?"

Hermione rubbed her temple, clearly exhausted from her long work hours. Her engagement ring caught the sunlight and glinted off of the diamond brightly, and once again Harry felt a pang of sadness he couldn't explain. "You have to decide that for yourself, Harry, and you know that."

"Can't you just  _tell_ me?" Harry half-whined, although only a part of him was joking. Sometimes he wished another person could enter his brain and make more sense of his thoughts than he did.

"Fine," Hermione caved, letting her hand fall to the table with a dull  _thud._ "I'll tell you what I do know." She began to list her thought off on her fingers. "One, Draco loves you. That much has been made perfectly clear. Two, you have feelings for him too." When Harry tried to interrupt, she looked at his pointedly and continued. "Don't try to argue with me. And three, Harry, you have some unresolved issues that make you hesitant to open up to Draco and let yourself be with him."

Harry nodded, lips sealed shut.

Hermione took his silence as encouragement to continue. "Obviously Draco came on to you a little too strong in the beginning, which would make anyone hesitant. He let himself be vulnerable when you hadn't really showed that you wanted that kind of intimacy. It was enough to scare anyone. So when you saw him again at the potions shop, of course he was cold and distant. He didn't want to seem weak like he had back at the Manor." Hermione looked elated by this point, clearly reveling in being able to work out the knots in Harry's love life. "So by buying you the bird and helping you deal with the losses you've experienced, he gets to be around you more often while you have the chance to fall in love with him back. And you have!"

Harry sat there, facing his friend, eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Because she was right. Everything she had said was true; he just hadn't realized how deep it went. Draco was helping him face the ghosts he was too frightened to tackle alone, but how much was for Harry's benefit and how much was for his own? Whatever his plan had been, it worked; Harry was hooked.

"So now you see," Hermione said, now at a lower and more appropriate decibel. "You  _belong_ together, Harry. Why are you fighting it?"

"Because . . . because we just  _can't_ be together, Hermione. We  _can't._ We're too different; we come from different worlds, we've hated each other most of our lives. And what would people say if they found out the Boy-Who-Lived was dating the Slytherin prince?"

"Harry," Hermione replied exasperatedly. "You're not in  _school_ anymore. People can't dictate to you what's wrong and what's right. You have to realize that you're on your own now – you can make your own decisions. Your whole childhood was so focused on defeating Voldemort that you never took time to think about what it was that  _you_ wanted – everyone else's lives came before yours. And while that was incredibly noble of you, it's no longer necessary. You don't need to save the world anymore; you've already done your part. Now it's time for you to save  _yourself_ , Harry. And Draco is the best way to do that."

Harry found it nearly impossible to swallow past the lump in his throat. It was only recently, since Draco had reappeared in his life, that he began to realize that his own needs were more in immediate need of attention than anyone else's.

And maybe Hermione was right. Maybe Draco  _could_ save him.

* * *

Draco and Harry decided they would visit Andromeda and Teddy the next day, but would arrive separately as Draco had some errands he needed to do beforehand. Harry was disappointed, wanting to see Narcissa right away and get some answers for the many questions the letters had raised, but Draco said that she needed more convincing before she allowed Harry to visit with her.

Harry rolled out of bed (for once, on time) and pulled on the outfit he had picked out meticulously the night before. The weather, as off as it had been, was finally climbing into the warmer temperatures as summer approached, and Harry decided to forego the sweater in exchange for a light long sleeved t-shirt. It was bottle green, to match his eyes, but Harry decided that was just coincidence, not a conscious effort to please Draco.

Despite the fact that he was just visiting Andromeda and Teddy, Harry still felt very nervous. Though he was the child's godfather, he hadn't been around to visit him very often. The boy was only three, and already as bouncy and energetic as his mother had been. In truth, being around Teddy made Harry feel at best uncomfortable and at worst miserable, because he so embodied the personalities of both his parents, and that made Harry ache. He missed Lupin, who had been a father figure to him, and Tonks, who had been a close friend, with a deep throbbing pain in his gut. Just like Harry, the poor child had lost both his parents before he got a chance to know them, and he sympathized with what Teddy would go through once he learned the truth about what happened to them. Harry knew that the boy would be strong; both of his parents had been incredibly so, and it was something Harry had also inherited from his parents. It was necessary for survival.

Harry thought about bringing something, maybe asking Kreacher to cook up a casserole, but decided against it. The loss of Andromeda's daughter wasn't recent, nor was it unexpected, and bringing it up unnecessarily would only make it worse. Because it was nearing the time he was supposed to arrive, Harry realized he couldn't put this off any longer. Whatever happened, he would have to face it sooner rather than later. So he Flooed Andromeda's house, and a moment later her tired, wrinkled face appeared in the fire. Her expression changed little when she caught sight of Harry. "Oh, hello," she said dryly. "I'll open the fireplace. Wait a moment and then come through."

She disappeared, and all at once Harry began to dread this again. What if somehow she blamed Draco or Harry for the death of her daughter, or even her husband? After all, it was Draco's family (more specifically, Draco's father) who had supported Voldemort, and it was Harry who hid behind the protection of the Order, putting Tonks in harm's way. Yes, she had been friendly toward the Order, even motherly toward Harry, but how much had the death of her two closest family members affected her? Especially considering she was raising a toddler all by herself, and at her age.

Harry took the gritty powder into his hand, taking a deep breath, before walking into the fireplace, tossing the dirt over the flames, and speaking clearly, "Andromeda Tonks' house."

He was sucked upward instantly, through the suffocating tubes of the Floo network, before landing solidly on his feet in the grate of Andromeda's fireplace. It was smaller than his, therefore making it difficult for him to climb out. He coughed to expel the soot from his lungs, before his legs were caught up in a tight grip. Harry glanced down to find a toddler clinging to him, bright green eyes reflective of Harry's peering up at him from behind violent purple locks. The kid was adorable, with his chubby cheeks and grabby hands and very colorful appearance. Harry swung him up into his arms, laughing at the way Teddy screamed with enjoyment.

"Hi, Unc Hawry," Teddy said, wrapping his short arms around Harry's neck.

"Hey, sport," Harry answered, watching in amusement as his bright lavender hair faded to something a bit more resembling Harry's color. It always pleased Harry that the boy mimicked his appearance whenever he was around; everyone found it endearing.

"Harry." Andromeda walked into the living room from the kitchen, a tray of tea and biscuits in her hands. She set the silver tray on the coffee table and turned to face him, who was holding Teddy on his hip, seemingly unaware of the boy who was currently tugging on his hair. She smiled, her dark eyes lighting up ever so slightly. Teddy's affection for Harry and childish antics seemed to warm her up a bit. "I trust you are well?"

"Very well," Harry said without hesitation, though he hadn't thought about or even realized he'd meant it. It had become an automatic response; he didn't want people to be burdened with the hefty weight of his depression. But this time, when he'd said he was well . . . he meant it. And that was something new for him. "And yourself?"

Andromeda let out a long breath, settling into the worn sofa. Harry imagined her joints creaking as she moved stiffly. "I have . . . I've been better, Harry. That is for sure."

Harry took a moment to admire the space he was currently in. The house was spotless from top to bottom, and Harry recalled from a distant memory that Andromeda was particularly good with housekeeping spells. Everything was old, but the way in which it was grouped together made it look antique. Although the overwhelming amount of floral print and scent was too much for Harry, he appreciated that the woman could keep it in such good shape considering there was a toddler wreaking havoc into and around  _everything._

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the fire sparking and spitting. Andromeda waved her wand tiredly, and only a second or two later, Draco was climbing out of the small fireplace, his limbs jutting out awkwardly as he tried to fit his long legs through the opening. Teddy squirmed excitedly in Harry's arms, and Harry set the boy down quickly. Teddy toddled over to Draco's legs and wrapped himself around them similar to what he'd done to Harry previously. Draco ruffled the boy's hair with one hand, which had turned very pale since Draco's arrival, presenting the child with a present from behind his back. Teddy squealed, grabbing it excitedly. He moved a little way away from the adults, tearing at the wrapping paper with careless abandon. Harry looked at Draco curiously, who smiled back, waving one hand in a greeting. Harry waved back awkwardly, eyebrows still furrowed in confusion.

Inside the box Draco had given Teddy was a tiny purple Pygmy Puff from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It looked up at the boy with large violet eyes, rolling over in excitement.

"Ooooh!" Teddy exclaimed. "Thank you, Unc Draco!"

Draco smiled at the toddler warmly. "It was all Harry's idea."

Harry's eyes widened perceptibly, nearly bulging at Draco's outright lie, but it seemed to appease the child. "Thank you, Unc Hawry," Teddy cooed, looking up at him with large, excited eyes.

"It was no problem, kiddo," Harry muttered under his breath, giving Draco a death glare which the blonde chose to ignore.

"'Drom, I can go play in my room?"

Andromeda nodded, her eyelids falling shut briefly in sheer exhaustion. "Just be careful with it, Teddy."

"'Kay!" The child took the animal's cage in both hands and ran off down the hall towards his room.

Andromeda smiled up at Draco sweetly; Harry was abruptly shocked to see how genuine it was. "Thank you for that, Draco. And you too, Harry." She nodded in his direction, although her smile was dimmed when it was directed toward Harry. "He'll really like that."

Draco walked over to the couch and sat next to Andromeda gingerly, placing one of his hands in hers. "It was no trouble. How has he been?"

"Good," Andromeda whispered, weariness evident in her voice. "He's a very strong-willed kid. Stubborn, like his mom."

Draco laughed. "That's for sure."

Their camaraderie bewildered Harry. They were family, perhaps, but never on more opposite sides of the spectrum. It was true that Draco was her nephew, and Andromeda his aunt, but both had shunned that part of their family tree. Andromeda became a blood traitor when she turned her back on the Black side of her family; Draco and his mother turned their backs on the Black side of their heritage _because_  they wereblood traitors. It was irony, Harry decided. But that didn't keep people apart who truly cared for each other. And it was evident to Harry now that Draco cared, very much. Maybe Draco was trying to find in Andromeda what he couldn't find in Narcissa – someone motherly that he could trust and look up to.

Draco poured tea and handed out biscuits to the three of them, returning to his place next to Andromeda, Harry on his other side. The two made idle chitchat while Harry gazed out the window, feeling distanced and more than a little bit left out.

His mood only lightened when Teddy returned to the room, complaining because his pygmy puff, which he'd named Chester, had fallen asleep. While Harry was instantly alarmed as to the actual state of the tiny creature, Draco laughed and informed the boy that those kids of animals got tired very easily because they were so small. If he let the pygmy puff rest, he could play with it for longer later on in the day.

That answer seemed to please Teddy, who switched his attention from Draco to Harry. "Unc Hawry, why d'you look so sad?"

The question, like so many other things that day already, caught him off guard. He was used to kids and their brutal honesty, but never before was he called out by a child for being sad.

Harry smiled down at the boy, but the happiness didn't reach his eyes. He reached down and pulled the boy into his lap. Teddy looked up at him expectantly, probably wondering if Harry was about to tell him a story. Harry sighed, running his hands through his own hair, his mouth twisting up wryly as he saw Teddy mimic his actions.

"I'm not sad, Teddy," Harry told him. "I'm just remembering how alike you are to your parents."

"Where are mommy and daddy, Unc Hawry?" Teddy looked at him with inquisitive eyes, trusting Harry enough to believe whatever he said.

Harry sighed again, trying to phrase it correctly so Teddy wouldn't become upset. "They're in a happy place, Teddy. Someday you'll go soon. When you're ready, you're going to be with them again. I promise."

Harry heard Andromeda sniffle quietly from where she was sitting.

"Where are your mommy and daddy, Uncle Hawry?"

Harry swallowed thickly. "My mom and dad are with yours, Teddy. They're all there together, just waiting for us. They'll be so happy to see you." Harry's voiced choked up with emotion, and he said nothing else.

Teddy frowned, but this answer seemed to please him. He turned to Draco and pointed back at Harry. "Unc Draco, do you still love Unc Hawry?"

Draco's and Harry's faces reddened simultaneously, while Andromeda watched with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "Now, where would you get an idea like that?" Draco chastised lightly.

"You were talking about Unc Hawry to 'Drom last time, and I heard you." Teddy seemed proud of himself for being able to understand and remember an adult conversation. "You said you loved Unc Hawry."

Andromeda let out a rather girlish giggle, startling Harry, while Draco flushed an even deeper red. "No more sugar before bed," Draco muttered, scooping the toddler up into his arms, much to Teddy's protest. "Time for your nap, Ted."

The boy whined and squirmed in Draco's arms, but soon accepted his fate after realizing that struggling was useless. When the blonde had disappeared into Teddy's bedroom to put the child down, Harry turned to Andromeda with the intention of making small talk, something he was never very good at, only to see that the woman was dozing lightly on the other side of the couch. Harry stood, slowly extricating himself from the squishy cushions so as not to wake Andromeda, before following Draco into Teddy's bedroom.

Draco was leaning over Teddy's crib, shushing the boy quietly as he fidgeted underneath his blankets. Harry watched in silence for a moment, soaking in the tender way Draco handled the toddler. All of the usual sharpness of his expression was replaced with soft eyes and gentleness. It was a side of him Harry had never seen, or even knew existed. His slate grey eyes were filled with nothing but compassion.

Harry cleared his throat quietly to announce his presence. Draco looked over at him and smiled briefly before turning back to the boy. The way he was tenderly stroking the boy's hair and cooing softly made Harry feel like he was interrupting something very intimate between father and son. And he supposed, in a way, that was true; Draco probably assumed the role of Teddy's father after Lupin's death. Harry bit his lip hard, knowing he should have undertaken that responsibility; he  _was_ the child's godfather after all, and he hadn't even brought him a gift?

Draco stood then, satisfied the boy was asleep for good, and ushered Harry out of the room quietly, closing the door behind him.

"Andromeda?" Draco whispered.

"Asleep," Harry murmured, and that answer didn't seem to surprise Draco.

"That's what I figured. Come on, let's take a walk. Teddy will be fine, and I don't want to wake Dromeda. She must be exhausted."

They snuck out the back door and through the well-manicured backyard to the street out front. Unlike Godric's Hollow, this neighborhood was a mixture of Wizards and Muggles, and the two men stowed their wands away out of sight. Harry was unfamiliar with the area, but Draco walked slightly ahead of him, clearly having some sort of objective in mind. Harry followed.

"So how have you been?" Draco asked casually, clearly feeling a need to fill the silence.

"Good," Harry answered. "Although we did see each other just a few days ago."

He could almost hear Draco smirk from beside him. Harry glanced to his left; he was right. "That's true," Draco agreed.

"So have you talked to Narcissa?" Harry asked eagerly, still impatient to meet with the woman and ask her about the letters.

Draco let out a loud breath that Harry interpreted as a sign of coming bad news. "I don't know, Harry. Just give her some time; I'm sure she'll come around."

"But why wouldn't she want to see me?"

Draco shrugged, slowing his stride to match Harry's, compensating for his longer legs. "Bad memories, I suppose. She hasn't been . . . right, since dad went to Azkaban."

"I don't blame her," Harry muttered under his breath. "Andromeda doesn't look so good."

"I should say not," Draco replied, his tone almost accusatory. "She's had very little help raising Teddy. I visit as often as I can, and I know the Weasleys do as well, though they have no blood relation."

Harry stared down at his feet guiltily. He was surprised Teddy even  _remembered_ him, it had been so long since he'd visited last. Harry felt disgusted with himself for being so absorbed in himself the last couple years that he neglected to take care of someone who clearly needed him. Teddy and Harry were so alike, and if the past was anything to go by, the years ahead of the young boy would be very hard. What kind of person would Harry be if he didn't help him in whatever way he could.

"I should have been there for him," Harry said, emotion affecting his voice. "How could I have not been there for him when he needed me?"

"Harry . . ." Draco trailed off, stopping beside him and turning so he and Harry were face to face. He took the dark-haired boy's face in his hands, wiping away the tears like he had so many times before, it seemed to him. "Don't blame yourself. It won't change anything. I brought you here so you could see for yourself that Teddy needs you in his life. The only thing you can do now is take care of him."

Harry's eyelashes glittered wetly with tears, guilt evident in his deep emerald eyes. Part of him would never forgive himself for abandoning Teddy.

Draco's hands were still on his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks softly. When Draco's head declined towards his, Harry froze, eyes darting from left to right and then squeezing shut as impossibly soft and yielding lips landed on his, pressing lightly before pulling away.

"Was that okay?" Draco seemed flushed, white blonde fringe partially obscuring his eyes, but Harry could still see the hope glinting in them.

Harry said nothing for a moment, trying to memorize the shape of Draco's lips on his, how delicate and beautiful the kiss had been. He shook his head, pulling away from Draco, his head spinning from the other man's scent and overwhelming proximity. "I'm sorry," he choked out. What was  _wrong_ with him, that he couldn't accept Draco's feelings for what they were without being terrified of admitting that they were reciprocated?

"No, I'm sorry," Draco muttered. "That was stupid of me. You've made your feelings for me very clear, Harry. I shouldn't have kissed you, not when you're feeling like this."

Harry whipped his head up, meaning to say something –  _anything_ – to remedy the situation he'd put himself into, but with a loud _crack_ , Draco had gone.

"I think I love you," Harry said to the man who was no longer there to hear it.


	7. Seven

" _Every broken heart has screamed at one time or another: Why can't you see who I truly am?"  
_ ― Shannon Alder

* * *

Harry stood outside the expansive white wooden double doors of Malfoy Manor, hand raised as if to knock. He'd been standing there for over ten minutes, not quite knowing how to proceed. Harry wasn't even sure  _why_ he'd decided to visit the Malfoy Manor unannounced, knowing that whatever happened it probably wouldn't end well.

He hadn't come to see Draco, surprisingly. At that moment, after the way Harry had treated him back at Andromeda's, Draco was the last person he wanted to see. Harry knew there was a high possibility that they might cross paths anyway, seeing as Harry had come to his home. But no, Harry was there to speak with Narcissa.

Draco had said she wasn't prepared to talk to Harry yet or maybe ever, but Harry knew that he couldn't sit around and wait for her to make up her mind. What he desperately needed from Draco's mother was answers, and he would receive them by any means necessary. Even if it meant possibly coming face to face with Draco.

Finally, gathering up enough courage to actually  _move_ , Harry's fist came down on the door in three quick raps. There was no noise from inside, and Harry had begun to think no one had heard him, his knock getting lost in the vastness of the mansion, when the door creaked open. He looked down to see a rather small-looking house elf, with large dark eyes and oversized ears. With a pang of hurt he thought of Dobby but quickly pushed it aside.

"Hello Mr. Potter," said the house elf in a small voice. "Kitsy is pleased to make your acquaintance."

Harry blinked, caught off guard by having been recognized, though he knew he shouldn't have been. "Hi, Kitsy. Is Nar— . . . Mistress Malfoy at home?"

Kitsy nodded, her eyes growing even bigger. "Yes, sir, but Kitsy was told not to take in any visitors today. Mistress Malfoy is not feeling well."

"Can you please . . ." Harry sighed, dragging a hand across his forehead. "It's urgent business, Kitsy. Will you just tell Mistress Malfoy I'm here, and see what she says?"

Kitsy nodded. "One moment please, Mr. Potter." She abruptly slammed the door in his face.

Harry stood outside on the front porch, wringing his hands together and hoping beyond hope that Narcissa would just give him one chance to speak with her. Draco had said she wasn't well, and whether that was a mental or physical malady he couldn't be sure.

Harry felt a biting sensation at his leg, and looked down with a start. A graceful white peacock, which came up to his waist, was gently pecking his leg. Harry kicked the bird away, feeling guilty when it ruffled its feathers indignantly and strutted away across the immaculate lawn. It was then that Kitsy reappeared, opening the door wide enough to let Harry past her into the house. Harry strode forward, relief evident in his expression, and the house elf shut the door quietly behind him. "Follow me, Mr. Potter," said Kitsy, leading him past the foyer into what could only be described as a great room. A roaring marble fireplace took up most of one wall, with seemingly-comfortable chintz chairs of different patterns placed strategically around the room so they all faced the low sofa table set up in the center. The lighting was poor; only the glow from the fire provided any illumination, the blackout curtains have been drawn over all the windows. Reclining in a delicate high-backed maroon chair sat Narcissa, clutching at a steaming cup of tea and staring straight into the blazing flames.

"Mistress Malfoy, Mr. Potter is here to see you," announced Kitsy loudly. Harry winced, afraid a certain other occupant of the house might hear her.

"Thank you Kitsy," said Narcissa dismissively. "Harry, you may sit," the woman said without looking at him, but gestured to a chair with her free hand. Harry strode over quickly, appreciating the way his trainers sunk into the plush rug below his feet, and settled himself into the armchair Narcissa had suggested. From where he sat, he could look into the woman's face without obscuring her view of the fireplace. "Draco isn't here, Harry," said Narcissa tiredly, still not tearing her gaze away from the fire.

Harry breathed a loud sigh, his worries alleviated by this statement. "I didn't come here to see him, Narcissa. I came to see you."

It was her name that finally made the woman snap out of her trance. Her blue eyes came to rest upon the boy who was looking at her anxiously, and they softened. Harry could clearly see her age reflected in her face: her blonde hair was graying at the roots, the lines around her eyes and mouth were deep and defined, and fatigue clearly shone within her eyes. He could guess there was more beneath the surface, demons that jaded her beyond her years. Harry had had the same problems, before Draco came along.

He leaned forward, eager to keep Narcissa's attention. "I want to ask you something about my mother."

Narcissa's expression was unreadable; she hadn't reacted at all. "Ah," she said noncommittally, setting her tea down on the saucer. "What about her?"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself, before reaching into his robes and pulling out the parchment he had been hanging on to since their visit to his old home. "I found these letters at the ruins of my parents' house in Godric's Hollow. They're a correspondence between you and Lily." He held the papers out as an offering, and Narcissa looked at them thoughtfully before gingerly pulling them from his fingers, her eyes skimming the faded calligraphy. Harry watched carefully, trying to gauge her response to the letters. Her clear, almost colorless blue eyes were shining and wide; he thought she may have been trying to hold back tears. Her lips, pale and thin, were parted, her tongue darting out to wet them subconsciously. If he looked closely, he could see the tremors shaking her hands, getting progressively worse until it became uncontrollable. Narcissa's sorrow was promptly replaced by fear; Harry, in a panic, called for Kitsy, who appeared by her Mistress's side immediately, holding out a small cup of something green and putting it to Narcissa's lips, who gulped it down with a shudder. Kitsy stroked the woman's arm, in a clear sign of affection Harry had never seen before in a house elf, before retreating back into the dark shadows of the house. Narcissa's eyes were still wide, but the panic in her expression was gone, tranquility soon replacing it. Harry thought about leaving, not understanding how she could be lucid after her fit, but Narcissa seemed perfectly fine to carry on their conversation as if nothing had happened. The woman finished the letters, her fingertips skimming over the words.

"Your mother was a lovely woman," she remarked. "Always kind; for a Muggleborn she was an extraordinary witch, better than most in my year."

"You went to school together?"

"Of course," said Narcissa softly. "I was a few years ahead, but her remarkable prowess reached even my self-obsessed Slytherin ears." There was a hint of regret in her voice. "She was not unlike that Muggleborn witch in your year that Draco always told me about, what was her name, starts with an H . . ."

"Hermione?"

"Yes," said Narcissa, nodding her head. "Top of her class, I presume?"

"Of course she was," Harry confirmed. "Would have been Head Girl if we'd gone and had a regular Seventh year. Now she's training to be a Healer at St. Mungo's."

"You sound very proud."

"I am. She's one of my best friends and she's happy. That's all that matters."

"Doesn't  _your_ happiness matter, Harry?"

The question blind sighted the boy completely. He reasoned that Narcissa was probably more insightful than he'd once thought. "Of course it does," he answered immediately.

"So why aren't you happy?"

It was the second time in a week he'd been called out on it, and figured he needed to disguise his emotions more carefully. But instead of covering it up with a lie, Harry decided to be outward and truthful. "I don't know what makes me happy anymore. I don't really know  _how_ to be happy."

Her head turned to the side, looking at Harry quizzically, a look in her eye that informed Harry she knew more than she was letting on. "But what about Draco?"

Harry blinked. "What about him?"

Narcissa didn't answer right away, obviously carefully piecing her response together. "I know that . . . Draco has been helping you." She looked to Harry for confirmation before continuing; he nodded. "The past is a scary thing to deal with, Harry, but it  _is_ in the past. If you're so focused on what has already happened, you'll miss everything that's passing you by in this tiny fraction of a moment in time. Don't take advantage of what you have; it'll be gone before you know it." She gestured to the room around her. "We almost lost it all, after the War. After Lucius—" she broke off, unable to finish that thought. "Well," she continued, "nothing has been the same. It will never be again. Do I wish I could go back and change some of the things I've done? Yes. Can I? No. I have accepted that, Harry. Maybe you should, too."

Harry nodded again, feeling a bit dumb but unable to say anything to follow that up. Narcissa looked down at her lap, the parchment jogging her memory and she realized the reason for his visit had yet to be discussed. "So, these letters," she said more cheerily, abruptly changing the subject. "I remember receiving this just before Halloween, and I found her request very odd. I didn't realize she really thought she was imminent danger; that's why I agreed. Lily had always been a bit paranoid, in my eyes. I never knew she had a reason to be until it was too late." Remorse colored her words. "When I received the news of what had happened, it filled me with dread and hate. Draco had just been born, he was sixteen months old and I feared for both our lives. Lucius—" but she seemed incapable of talking about him. "Our family was about to be ripped apart, again. It took . . .  _them_  . . . a while to realize Voldemort had been vanquished, or so it seemed, after his Killing Curse rebounded off you and on to him. Everyone else" and Harry knew she meant every Death Eater "suddenly felt lost or fearful but I only felt joy. I just wanted my family to be safe and happy and free from the darkness and evil that had always come with the Malfoy name.

"Honestly, Harry, I hadn't the faintest clue what had happened to you, and I was expressly forbidden to find out. I wanted to take you in, to appease Lily's death wish, so to speak. But I was told you were to be raised as a Muggle, protected from the Wizarding world to hide your past from you."

"But who? Who was protecting me?"

"Who else?" said Narcissa with a sad smile. "Dumbledore."

Of course. It would only make sense; his parents' deaths had been explained away as a car accident, his uncontrollable acts of magic labeling him a freak, different . . . His letter of acceptance to Hogwarts was the only indication of the world to which he really belonged, and that hadn't arrived until his eleventh birthday.

"And you never thought to check up on me once you found out I was alive, when I was reintroduced to the Wizarding world?"

"I didn't think you'd want that. I was told you were healthy and happy. I asked Draco to befriend you, as a means of gathering news of you, but you rejected his hand in friendship." She didn't look upset; in fact, oppositely, she seemed rather amused. "You were such opposites, I wasn't surprised one bit when Draco wrote home complaining Harry Potter didn't want to be his friend. You're much like your father that way. Intelligent." There was a twinkle of humor in her eyes, and Harry found himself laughing.

"Were they . . . were they good people? My parents?"

Narcissa frowned, her eyebrows stitching together. "Why would you ask that?"

"I've heard different stories about my father and mother, mostly from biased sources. Never having known them, it's hard what to judge what would have been in character for them and what would have been fabricated."

"It doesn't matter what they did as kids, Harry," Narcissa chastised lightly. "Past mistakes do not define you. It was what they were made of, their substance and composition, that tells you what kind of people they were. And your parents had hearts of gold."

Harry smiled at the woman gratefully, resisting the urge to cry. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly. "How rude of me, I didn't offer you any refreshments. Kitsy!" she called. The house elf appeared by her chair at once. "Fetch a pot of tea and some biscuits, will you?"

The elf nodded and disappeared with a  _crack._ When she appeared she was balancing a tray on her tiny shoulders, upon which was a silver teapot, another cup and saucer, and a plate piled high with biscuits. She placed it carefully on the sofa table and walked out with a respectful bow. Narcissa poured Harry tea and he poured in milk and two sugars, stirring a moment before facing the woman again. She looked decidedly pleased that she was able to play hostess, grinning as Harry drank and nibbled at a cookie. "So," she said, her tone now light and conversational. "Are you coming to the wedding?"

Harry choked on his tea, clutching at his chest until he could clear his airway. "Excuse me?"

Narcissa blinked at him, clearly confused at Harry's reaction. "The wedding? Draco didn't tell you?"

"I'm sorry,  _whose_ wedding?"

"Well, Draco's of course!"

"What!?" Harry exclaimed, dropping the cup of tea into his lap, the hot liquid spilling everywhere. He stood up, the heat burning his skin, before he fumbled his wand out of his waistband and waved it, cleaning up the mess and fixing the cup. "Sorry," he muttered. There were words rising in his throat like bile, and he couldn't help but let them out. "And exactly  _who_ is Draco marrying?"

"Astoria Greengrass. She's a lovely young witch, and they agreed to marry just a couple weeks ago! She comes from a very respectable family, and the union will do good things to help the Malfoy name. I thought Draco would have mentioned it."

"Yeah, me too," said Harry spitefully, his brain still not fully processing what was happening. "But . . . I'm confused, I thought—" He stopped short, afraid that outing Draco in front of his mom would be a very large faux pas. "I just haven't seen him in a while, so maybe he was going to tell me when he saw me."

Narcissa nodded, sipping her tea thoughtfully. "Well, of course you're invited, dear. It's being planned and the date has been set for October 7th, so be sure to check your calendar."

Harry balked. "What, so soon?"

"Well, it won't really take that much time to prepare. And they had a very short courtship, so it only makes sense that they would want a short engagement also."

Harry felt like breaking down. His legs seemed too weak to hold him up anymore, but he also couldn't bear the thought of taking this sitting down. He began to pace in front of the fire, feeling it warm his legs to the point where he was uncomfortably hot, but he didn't move away.

"Harry, is there something wrong?"

Harry felt bewildered, actually pulling at his hair in frustration. How could he have let this happen? He lost Draco because he was so unwilling to let himself go and open up. Draco was going to get married – to a  _woman_ , no less – because Harry had been such a big moron and let him slip through his fingers. And now that he was finally accepting of his feelings, of how much he desperately wanted and needed Draco, it was too late. He was with someone else, and Harry could do nothing about it.

He broke down then, not caring where he was or who was around to see, because it hurt him too much not to. Keeping his emotions pent up in his chest only meant that they flowed more freely now, out into the open where everyone could see, and it was too late to reign them in and regain control of his body, so he relinquished his mind and heart to the tidal wave of pain and sorrow and regret that was crashing over his body, and all he could manage to think through the onslaught was  _Draco._

And Narcissa, who was watching the boy before her break down into sobs, somehow knew without words what Harry was going through. She understood that sometimes connections went deeper than just friendship, went beyond the surface of chemistry and turned into attraction. The innermost desires of the heart were the ones usually kept buried the deepest within, hidden from the world that might use those yearnings to twist into knives of hurt and leave nothing but painful scars. Nothing was scarier than the prospect of falling in love with someone who could not, for whatever reason, love you back.

A mothering instinct took over Narcissa, pulling her down to the floor where Harry was rocking back and forth with his head in between his knees, still keening and repeating her son's name. The woman pulled this boy who could have been her own son into her lap, and Harry relented to her yielding arms, gripping her tight to him and burying his head into her shoulder. His body shuddered, his hands trembled, his mouth moved with quiet admissions.

"I love him," Harry spoke through his tears, and the impact of the truthful words stabbed his body with crippling pain. "I love him and now it's too late."

Narcissa shushed him, stroking his hair gently, no awkwardness in the motion. She'd comforted Draco many nights after he'd woken from a nightmare and couldn't fall back to sleep. Just as she had then, Narcissa held the boy in her arms and promised it would be okay. Everything evened out eventually, and he had to believe that.

Finally he'd calmed down enough to pull back and look into her eyes. "I love Draco," he said, conviction ringing through the room. "I never thought I could feel this way about anyone, but I love your son. And I know he loves me too."

"Make it right," said Narcissa. And that was all the permission Harry needed from her.

"I will," he vowed.

Draco arrived home from his errands, slipping through the front door quietly. Kitsy was there in the foyer immediately, taking his trainers and light jacket and stowing them away, while Draco sorted through his various purchases.

"Shhh, Master Malfoy," said Kitsy in a hushed voice. "Mistress Malfoy has a visitor and didn't want to be disturbed."

Draco's eyebrows came together in confusion, wondering who could have called on his mother. "Who was it?"

Kitsy shook her head. "Can't say, Mistress Malfoy said not to."

"Did she have her medicine today?"

Kitsy nodded. "Kitsy gave it to her less than an hour ago."

"Okay, you may go." The house elf disappeared.

Worry and suspicion was creeping up in Draco. What if it was someone who wanted to harm his mother? He hardly thought it was someone calling just to check in.

Draco tiptoed down the hall and peeked into the great room from the foyer entrance. He saw his mother, talking to someone who was standing, facing away from him so he couldn't see a face. Frustrated, Draco crept down the hall to peer through the other doorway, squinting in the dim light.

What he saw made his stomach drop out from under him. There in his living room, talking to his mother, stood Harry Potter, whose eyes were gleaming wetly behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

"What, so soon?" he heard the boy say, his face a mixture of shock and pain.

"Well, it won't really take that much time to prepare," he heard his mother say, and from this angle it was her face that was hidden from view. "And they had a very short courtship, so it only makes sense that they would want a short engagement also."

 _Shit_. Harry knew.

The boy's hands seemed to clutch at the air for a moment before deciding to yank on his hair. Right before his eyes Harry seemed to lose himself, crumbling to pieces in a way Draco hadn't seen before: because this was real pain, not a memory of it. And Draco felt it within his own chest, this heartache that felt as if it would never go away. Everything in his body was screaming at him to run to the other boy, or to run away, but he seemed rooted in place, unable to move or think.

But his mother was moving, gathering the crying boy into his arms – and Draco could see the youth now, after Harry's mask had dropped and the hardness left his features – and comforting him the way Draco should have been but knew he couldn't. He slumped against the wall, still watching the pair but feeling suddenly very exhausted and laden with guilt. Draco should have been the one to say something; the engagement was something that could have so easily been avoided, had only Harry said he felt the same way. But Draco wasn't to be made a fool out of; if Harry Potter didn't love him, well then, he certainly wouldn't waste his time waiting for him to change his mind.

Except that he had changed his mind. Or maybe never had, but had only just come to terms with it. But it was too late. After Harry had clearly rejected him after their visit with Andromeda, Draco made the formal presentation to Astoria, who gratefully and joyfully accepted. It was a necessary duty to his family, to produce heirs to uphold the family name, even if it meant he would be unhappy the rest of his life, because he wouldn't be spending it with the man he loved.

"I love him."

The admission may as well have been a knife, for how painfully and sharply it sunk into Draco's chest. Maybe he'd already guessed at it, but hearing vocal confirmation was nearly too much for him to comprehend.

"I love him and now it's too late." Both men had said it at the same time, Harry's a high wail of agony; Draco's was a low whisper of defeat.

Harry was still talking to his mother, but the only word Draco understood was  _love_ , over and over again. Each time was another rip at his heart; any more and it would tear completely in two.

"Make it right."

"I will."

Draco fought to keep the tears from slipping out, but they fell despite his best efforts. "I'm sorry Harry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

 


	8. Eight

It was killing him, no sarcasm or exaggeration implied. It was literally  _killing_  Harry.

There was nothing he could do, nothing he could possibly say to fix the situation. It was  _over_ , and the reality of it hit him like a freight train. Without a word, Draco had broken his glass heart in so many places it was shattered. No amount of time or glue could ever completely repair the damage. Harry was utterly wrecked by the revelation that Draco had eluded his grasp, and that this time it was permanent. Harry had run out of time to catch up; Draco had crossed the finish line just before Harry could manage a hold on him.

Draco was getting  _married_. It made Harry nauseous to even think about it; after having to explain it to Ron and Hermione he'd run to the toilet and was violently sick. He wondered if it was his body's way of expelling some of the pain that had turned his stomach into twisted knots.

His friends were sympathetic in the worst way, their sweet words seeming cloying to Harry, whose anger was just barely below the surface and could have made itself known at any moment. He'd ended up kicking them out when their attempts to soothe him finally pushed him over the edge. Harry had just enough of a handle on his emotions to feel sorry for the action, but it was short-lived. He needed solitary: it was what he was used to, although recently he'd become unaccustomed to being alone so much. A bird was the only company Harry kept, only because Sirius didn't pat him on the back or try to tell him it would be okay. Even Kreacher, who had nosily filled himself in on the conversation, was likely to offer a comforting word at any moment, and so was banished from Harry's sight for the near future.

 _Astoria Greengrass._  Harry's mouth curled up at the mere thought of the girl he'd never met. Daphne, her sister, had been in their year at Hogwarts, a nondescript Slytherin who had followed Pansy around like a lost puppy. It figured that Draco would choose someone young and pure-blooded and  _blond_ ; it was always, during school, whom Harry had pictured him with. Beautiful and empty-headed. Perfect for manipulating and deceiving. It was recently that Harry had begun imagining his own future; he'd never had the luxury to do so previous to the War. He never believed he would  _have_  a future, and that's why it seemed so critical now. Without him realizing, Draco had become Harry's future, their life together playing out in his head as if it were a prophecy rather than just his imagination. Harry still had not fully grasped the fact that the life he envisioned for the blonde and himself had fallen through his fingertips. How could he build that back up, knowing it wouldn't be Draco by his side? They'd always seemed inextricably linked, in some form or another destined to be involved with each other no matter how much they'd stretched the bond.

"There will be other people, Harry-" Hermione had said, before she was rudely cut off by Harry, whose tone held a bite.

"That's the  _point_ , Hermione! There  _is_  no one else. I knew when we got involved that it would be an all-or-nothing deal. I end up with nothing. I'm used to it."

"But you don't  _have_ to be, Harry, you can  _fight_ this—"

"Honestly, Hermione, I can't and you know that. I know you want me to be happy, but I blew it with Malfoy. He's  _engaged._ "

That one word had been enough to trigger his rage, casting his friends out without another thought. After everything that had happened between them, he still couldn't face the pair and admit that he was in love, even if he'd implied it. It just seemed like the most humiliating situation, to be so hopeless head over heels for a man who clearly didn't think of him that way – at least, not enough.

And,  _God,_ he was supposed to babysit Teddy today and he didn't think he could deal with a toddler climbing over him all day, asking him about 'Unc Draco' and wondering why he looked so sad. The kid was brilliant, so intuitive and excitable, but that wasn't always a good thing in Harry's case, because the man was usually irritable and on edge since the War. The boy never  _settled down_  – he was always jumping over something or climbing furniture or screaming happily in the way that children do. Harry considered him family, but then again so did everyone. After the death of Teddy's parents, everyone wanted to love him and assure him that there was no shortage of affection or support in his life. As the boy's father, Harry should have stepped up more than everyone else to make certain that Teddy's life was steady and secure, and he'd failed miserably. But if there was one thing that Harry knew for sure, it was that he would spend every moment of his life trying to make it up to the boy.

Harry cast  _tempus_ lazily to find that it was later than expected; the afternoon had come quickly, though Ron and Hermione's visit had lasted most of the morning. Teddy was due to arrive via Floo by half one, which meant Harry had little time to prepare himself for Andromeda. He quickly set a kettle on the stove to heat while he straightened up the living room, adjusting picture frames and fluffing pillows. He needed to make a good impression; if Andromeda was displeased with the place, she might not let Teddy visit anymore, and Harry couldn't have that.

Harry was putting some of the most recent  _Prophet_ s away, stuffing them into a drawer in the china cabinet that he rarely used. His fingertips brushed against a thick piece of pale parchment, and he pulled it out carefully, his eyebrows narrowed. It was completely blank and, when unfolded, quite large. Immediately Harry knew what it was, a nostalgic smile upturning his mouth, when suddenly his fire flashed green. Harry set the parchment down absently and went over to the brick fireplace, tapping it with his wand to let his visitors through.

Teddy came first, a blur of bright green hair and waving limbs. "Unc Hawry!" he shrieked, climbing up his legs and pawing at his denims ferociously until Harry scooped him up, spinning him around in a circle as his chubby legs flew out behind him.

"Hey kiddo," Harry murmured into his hair, pressing a kiss there tenderly before letting the child go. He turned back around and looked up, expecting to see Andromeda with her perpetually exhausted expression and graying hair. Who was there in her place nearly made Harry black out.

It was Draco – of  _course_ it was Draco, he'd always had a knack for showing up exactly when he shouldn't. But not just Draco – Draco in  _black._ He'd worn it so much during school, they all had, but it never really suited anyone else the way it suited the Slytherin. It should have washed him out, made him seem even paler with his fair skin and light hair, but instead it brought out his eyes in the most striking way. It didn't help that the t-shirt he was wearing was tight-fitting, outlining every curve and bump of muscle in his arms and stomach. His denims were dark and tailored to hug his legs and arse in the most divine way, and Harry found he could not look away. He must have been staring, because Draco cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. Harry's cheeks began to heat, and his eyes flicked back up to the man's face, who was eyeing him warily. He supposed that made sense, considering the last time they'd seen each other had been disastrous. "Er," Harry said by way of greeting.

"Your eloquence is astounding Potter, truly." The disdain in Draco's voice chilled his core. He hadn't referred to Harry by his last name since the War. "Andromeda asked me to drop him off," he said, gesturing to Teddy. "I was keeping an eye on him until it was time to bring him over." Draco wouldn't meet Harry's eyes, though they held a cold fire that Harry could not understand. "I'll just go then," he finished, turning back to the fireplace.

"Wait!" Harry said, stopping the man. "Would you like some tea?" He winced at the hopeful tone in his own voice.

Draco looked taken aback; clearly he'd thought Harry would have wanted him to leave immediately. "Really?" He seemed cautious, half his body still in the hearth.

Harry nodded. "It'll just be a minute. Sit," he said, pointing to the couch. Draco walked over and sat down, dumbstruck. Teddy bounced over to him, pulling at his hair and clothes and asking him for sweets, which Draco fished out of his pockets distractedly. Harry returned a moment later with a tray, setting it down on the table before sitting down on the couch, as far away from Draco as he could manage, the arm digging in to the small of his back. He busied himself by pouring the tea, preparing it as he liked while Draco did the same. The awkward silence continued, punctuated by the  _clang_ of metal on porcelain as they stirred their drinks. Teddy was on the floor by Draco's feet, playing with Chester the pygmy puff, yelping happily when the small creature began crawling up his arm.

"Er," Harry said finally, cursing himself for his own stupidity. "I suppose I should tell you congratulations."

Draco choked on his tea, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. "For?" he asked, although he already knew.

"You're engaged." It was a statement – so why did it sound so much like a question?

"Yes," Draco muttered, avoiding Harry's brilliant emerald eyes, afraid of what he would see there. Judgment? Sorrow? Perhaps nothing at all? "Yes, I'm engaged."

 _Why_ was written across Harry's face so blatantly, it might as well have been there with permanent marker for how well Draco could read him. Draco didn't have an answer; he didn't know  _why_ he was engaged, or even how it had really happened. Somehow between after kissing Harry and before he'd walked in on him talking to his mother he'd been roped into a relationship with this girl he'd never met, forcing a ring on to her hand without any real control of his own. He hadn't thought it was a good idea, even opposed the idea outright to his mother, but she'd begged and pleaded with him to do this, to uphold the family name, and who was he to deny his mother anything, when she'd done so much for him?

"That's great for you," said Harry quietly, and Draco could tell he was being insincere. Of course he was.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco whispered, turning to face him now, knowing that Harry wasn't reacting hostilely.

"What for?" Harry spat back.  _Maybe not_ , Draco thought ruefully. "I'm really happy for you."

"Harry," Draco murmured coaxingly, holding his hand out, not quite touching him but almost. "Tell me what you're really thinking."

Harry shot him a furious look, hidden behind hooded eyelids. Even in that brief flash of green he looked menacing, a futile attempt to hide the pain. "I just didn't know you were dating," he said stiffly.

"You know it wasn't like that."

"What was it like, then?" His sharp voice alerted Teddy, whose eyes were wide as he looked up at Harry. "Kreacher!" Harry called, and the house elf appeared before him instantly. "Why don't you give Teddy a tour of the house?"

Teddy watched, fascinated, as Kreacher beckoned for him to follow. Teddy did so immediately after a nod from Draco, toddling after the small elf with a wide smile on his face. Harry turned back to Draco, whose eyebrows were still raised questioningly. "I was talking to your mother," Harry said, and Draco forced a shocked look on to his face. "To ask her about the letters. She invited me to the wedding," he added quietly as an afterthought, a disbelieving tone in his voice. Draco closed his eyes, his teeth clamping together harshly. "I'm happy for you." It sounded so much like a lie that even Harry couldn't pretend to himself anymore.

"About the kiss—"

"Draco, I—"

They both started at the same time, laughing quietly and Harry nodded for Draco to go first. Draco's smile was tiny and disingenuous. "That kiss outside Andromeda's was . . . a mistake, Harry." His throat closed up against the lie, trying to prevent him from saying it, but he pushed through. This needed to be said. "I was confused about what I felt for you. When we kissed, well . . . it cleared everything up." Draco flashed Harry some teeth, though it killed him to do so. "Turned out I didn't really feel that way for you anymore. It was probably just my imagination going wild." For all the times he practiced that speech, it still sounded forced. And by the way Harry's eyes flashed, he could tell.

Harry and Draco were face to face now, staring into each other's eyes, and Draco knew somehow exactly what Harry was going to say next.

"I lo—"

"What's that?"

Draco was pointing to the blank piece of parchment resting on Harry's china cabinet. Blinking, a little pissed that Draco had interrupted him, he stood and fetched it. Glancing at Draco once, not sure he should be sharing this secret, he pulled out his wand from his pants, tapped the parchment, and muttered "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

At once brown ink began to appear on the paper, bleeding through the page into the layout of Hogwarts, full of movement as the students moved from one classroom to the next. Draco's eyes went wide with shock, tracing the edges of the paper with one long finger. "Is this—"

"A map of Hogwarts? Yep." Even after all this time, it was still one of his most prized possessions. "You can see where everyone is in the castle. It came in handy when I had to sneak out of the dorms to go somewhere in the dead of night." Draco had drawn closer subconsciously, their shoulders aligning as Draco watched the little footsteps move around the page in fascination.

"That's amazing," Draco breathed. "I always wondered how it was that you never got caught."

"Well, it was partially this, partially the Invisibility Cloak," Harry laughed.

"That's right." Draco nodded, remembering. "Sometimes I really miss it. You know?"

"Yeah," Harry whispered. "I do too. I really wish I'd gone back and did Seventh year over again like everyone else. It would have been another year of normality."

Draco paused for a moment, not wanting a lull in the conversation in case Harry started to tell him again. "What happened to you, after school? Why did you cut yourself off so completely from everything?"

Harry was caught off guard by this topic of conversation, a lie on the tip of his tongue to ease it over smoothly, but something held him back from being dishonest. Maybe it was just because he knew he would never be able to lie to Draco. "Honestly, I just felt broken. My whole life had been built up to that one moment, where I would either live or die but more probably die . . . I never expected to survive that battle. So when I was able to stand up and walk away from it, I just . . . I didn't know what to do with myself. I'd never thought of what I'd do  _after_ , because I never really believed there would  _be_ an after for me. Once, a long time ago, I'd had ambitions of becoming an Auror, but I'd had my fair share of chasing bad wizards and I just wanted to _rest._ It seemed like all I had been doing my whole life was  _running,_ running away from the Dursleys and running from Voldemort and from  _you_  and I just wanted to stop everything and sleep without nightmares for once. I needed stability and for once I had it, and I didn't really know how to walk on such even ground. It terrified me, to know that I wasn't going to die. To know that the eventuality had now become the impossibility. I wasn't going to die at the hands of Voldemort; I couldn't wrap my head around it. My friends recovered so quickly but I . . . couldn't. I couldn't handle it, I couldn't heal from it, I couldn't do anything with myself and so I shut down." Harry was biting down on his bottom lip so hard he was sure it was bleeding. "I was weak and I gave up." A tear slipped down his cheek but he caught it quickly with his sleeve, humiliation heating his cheeks.

"No Harry, no," Draco tried to soothe him. "You were so strong, and you deserved a break after what you did for us. The reporters shouldn't have hounded you, people shouldn't have invaded your personal space – you had every right to be distant after what you went through. But if you don't let out what you're feeling, it only gets worse. You know that, right?"

Harry's eyes, so open and wide and filled with unshed tears, turned on him then. "So why aren't you telling me what you're really feeling?" His voice was thick and his chest was convulsing with silent sobs. "Why aren't you being honest with me? Because I can see it in your eyes," Harry cut in before Draco could protest. "Your eyes don't lie."

Draco let out a loud whoosh of air, reaching out and placing his hand over Harry's, who didn't move his away. Taking that as a good sign, Draco began. "Harry, I'm—I'm getting married. I mean, I'm getting  _married_." He looked wildly around the room, trying to prevent himself from shedding any forbidden tears. "What do you want me to say?" he asked brokenly.

Harry stood, towering over Draco, pulling his hands through his hair. "I want you to tell me you love me, Draco!" Draco couldn't look into Harry's eyes, which were ablaze with green fire. "I want you to be honest and tell me how you feel so I can tell you that I love you too! I want to be able to tell you that I'm falling in love with you and I want you to be with me and not her. I want you to marry  _me_ and not  _her._ I know I'll never love someone else the way that I love you, and I can't lose you to someone else because I never tried. So  _please_ , Draco, hear me and understand how much I need you to be with me. Because for the first time, I've found something that I don't know how to live without." Harry finished in a whisper, but his words crashed around Draco like a tidal wave.

The blonde bit his lip, reaching up to pull Harry down into a fierce hug, clinging to the black haired boy with all his might. He placed a tender kiss to Harry's temple, wishing he could magically come up with words to make it all better, to help him through what he was feeling. Why weren't there potions to make people fall  _out_ of love?

"I  _do_ love you, Harry," Draco admitted, feeling it was easier to say when they weren't making eye contact. He settled for muttering it into Harry's ear, breathing in his smell and trying to memorize it, knowing he wouldn't have another opportunity to. "But being together would be too impossible. My name has already been trashed by my father, and the only way to make it right would be to marry someone of good social standing, to help not just me but my mother also. And you can't be with me, not when you're so well-known and hold such status in the public eye. It would tear you down, and I couldn't do that to you. Just because we love each other, doesn't mean it's enough. And if it didn't matter what people thought about us, then I'd be on one knee right now." Draco choked on a sob at the confession. "But it matters, Harry, whether you want it to or not. And I don't want to be the reason for you being blacklisted by the Wizarding community. So I'm going to walk away, even though it will kill me. And I'm going to try to forget. And I hope you can do the same."

Harry's grip tightened on him, crushing him against his rigid body, before collapsing into him. Because Draco was  _right;_ it was never going to work out between them. And even though he didn't know how he was going to wake up tomorrow and face the pain of not having Draco, he couldn't imagine how he'd wake up knowing that his friends and family along with himself were being harassed and ridiculed, just so he could be in a relationship. Harry Potter was  _good_ and the Malfoys were  _bad_ and that was always how it was going to be. His eyelashes fluttered but he kept his eyelids glued together, preventing any more tears from falling.

"I don't want to lose you," Harry whispered, but it was with acceptance that he  _was_ going to.

"I don't want to lose you either," Draco said back, pulling back from the hug to look Harry in the eyes: they took his breath away, and not for the first time. For a moment they just gazed at each other, emerald and silver, pain and regret mirrored between them.

"Kiss me," Harry ordered, but it was a question. Draco obliged, tilting his head down and lifting Harry's jaw up, glancing up into his eyes once more before leaning down, capturing his lips in a soft, breathy kiss. His lips ghosted softly over the other man's, sparks of electricity shooting between them. Harry could actually feel his heart pounding in his chest, overwhelmed by the scent and the taste of Draco, and he pressed further, capturing Draco's bottom lip with both of his, squeezing gently. They built up a rhythm that was tantalizingly wonderful but also incredibly slow, neither wanting it to end, and the kiss was wet and salty, and Harry couldn't tell if it was Draco's tears or his own or a mixture of both, but it didn't matter. Draco was in his arms, most likely for the last time, and he was determined to savor every minute that he could. But then Draco was pulling back and breathing heavily and Harry realized that he was out of breath also, so he put his hands on Draco's face and held him there, inches from his mouth, wanting to continue but knowing it was impossible.

Harry was in love, could feel it from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair, but for the first time it didn't hurt. Draco was leaving, and Harry would probably never see him again. But he was leaving so that Harry would be happy, so that he could be happy, and Harry couldn't find fault in that, no matter how much he wanted to. It hurt in the best way, but he knew he wouldn't trade the scars for anything. Draco saved him, literally pulled him up from the suffocating depths of his own mind, helped him face his demons and recover. The man had done more things for Harry then he could count, both physically and emotionally, and Harry could feel nothing but grateful in that moment. Things had a funny way of working out in the end; if they were meant to be, they would be.

He stroked his thumb across Draco's cheek, and he grabbed on to Harry's wrist, his eyes closing as he tried to memorize the touch of Harry's skin on his own. Maybe it would be all he had left of him, ghosts of touches and kisses when he desperately wanted so much more. But one look into Harry's eyes and he knew he was making the right decision; if Draco truly loved him, he would let him go. In the end Harry would have done more suffering being with him than without him.

"I love you," he whispered once more, wanting Harry to really hear him, wanting him to remember it forever. "You will always be loved."

And Harry wasn't going to forget. He couldn't, not when he was in this deep. "I love you too, Draco. I always will, I promise. I'll never stop."

The two men broke apart as Teddy came bounding back into the room, Kreacher hot on his heels. Draco stood and Flooed home quietly just as Harry was pulling Teddy into his lap for a rest. The last glimpse he saw of the raven-haired man was him cuddling up next to his godson, pulling him tight to his chest, burrowing into the couch as he drifted off to sleep.

 


	9. Nine

_**Five years later** _

**Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy, 24, Found Dead**

_Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy, married to Draco Malfoy, owner of Castor's Potions of Remedies, was pronounced dead last Wednesday, December 3_ _rd_ _. It was an apparent suicide – Hit Wizards were called after her husband came home to find her collapsed on the kitchen floor, with slits to her wrists. She was immediately Apparated to St. Mungo's, but she was too far gone for the Healers to be able to help her. Astoria is survived by her husband, her son Scorpius, and her mother Diana. Funeral services will be held for Astoria on . . ._

Hermione put the paper back down on her desk, tugging her fingers through her curly brown mane, tears springing to her eyes. Astoria's death had been on her hands; she was the only Healer on duty at the time, and she'd failed to save her. In the back of her mind, Hermione knew the woman had been too far gone for any Blood Replenishing Potion to help her, but she still felt guilty for the loss. Having to write  _suicide_ next to Cause of Death on the death certificate was something she'd never done before, and she remembered how her hand couldn't stop shaking. The Malfoys had  _seemed_  happy: Draco's business had just taken off, his name cleared of any and all charges brought against him, and they'd just had a son. And now that little boy didn't have a  _mother_  . . . Hermione shuddered, her blood running cold as she imagined her own two children without her to take care of them. It was an unfathomable thought, to leave them behind, and Ron as well. She loved her family too much.

Maybe therein lay the problem. Wizards thought themselves above Muggle medicines and illnesses, but Hermione was familiar with certain ailments – including postpartum depression. Coupled with what Hermione knew to be a rather loveless marriage, it was no wonder Astoria finally lost herself.

A knock on her door shakes her from her reverie. "Come in," she said softly, slipping the  _Prophet_ into her desk drawer.

The heavy oak door squeaks open to reveal a very haggard-looking Draco, pale hair hanging over his face in stringy, unwashed strands. He looked as if he aged a great deal in a short amount of time – there were lines etched into his skin around his mouth and eyes, and his posture was slumped. His clothes looked a few days old; no doubt he'd been by his wife's bedside for a long time, and then had to deal with funeral arrangements and press, all the while carrying around his three-year-old son. Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for the man, who must have been going through so much recently, and her heart went out to him wholly.

"Draco," she said soothingly, immediately adopting her bedside manner. "Please sit," she ordered, waving her hand toward the high-backed chintz chair situated across from her.

He did so silently, falling into it and covering his face with his hands. He looked absolutely miserable, chest expanding and caving in with harsh sobs. Hermione grabbed the tissue box and held it out to him, and he took them immediately, blowing his nose loudly. "Thanks," he said with a muted voice.

"Where's Scorpius?" she asked gently, offering him a nose-clearing drop.

Draco took the candy-like chew and swallowed it whole. "In the hospital daycare center, for now. He has to go home eventually."

"So do you."

He shook his head, avoiding the witch's gaze. "I don't know how to. I don't think I can go home and sleep in our bed without her. Maybe I didn't love her the way I loved—" he broke off with a choked sound "—Astoria was my companion, my friend, the mother of my _son_ —"

"Draco," said Hermione sternly, and he looked up, physically trying to get a grip on himself by clutching his left arm, over the faded tattoo of the Dark Mark. "You can't fall apart, not now. If you need help, then  _ask._ But you need to be strong for your son right now. You need to be there."

Draco wiped away the tear collecting in the corner of his eye. "I just don't understand it. W-we were happy . . . happy enough. Maybe the intimacy wasn't there but it was c-comfortable enough and once we had Scorpius I thought everything would be okay, because we could both focus on loving him instead of learning to love each other . . ." He trailed off, eyes dry but desperation still clearly spelled out in his eyes. "Without Astoria I don't know how to be a good parent for him. She always took care of him while I was at work, and when I got home he was usually asleep . . ."

"Being a good parent is hard work, Draco, but it's  _so_ rewarding. And before Scorpius came along you were an excellent caretaker for Teddy; that little boy absolutely adores you. Even Hugo and Rose get excited when Uncle Draco visits," she added with a smile. "You're going to be okay, I know that."

Draco pushed his hair back from his face, revealing more sallow skin around his eyes. He had the haunted look of someone who had been fighting all his life, and just when he achieved some level of peace it was taken from him . . .

"How is he?" Draco asked suddenly, and Hermione blinked in surprise.

"Fine," she said cautiously. "The same, I suppose. He owls about once a week to catch up, but you can never really tell with letters." Her tone was meant to hold some humor but it only fell flat. "At least work keeps him distracted."

"And he's still there?"

"Yeah," Hermione replied with a wry grin. "The first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to last more than a year in a long time. Of course, he's good at what he does and McGonagall would never even consider firing him no matter how badly he was doing."

Draco smirked, but it did not reach his eyes.

"He couldn't have done it without you, you know," Hermione said thoughtfully. "If you hadn't helped him come to terms with his past, he would most likely still be living in that dingy house with no outside contact. You  _saved_ him, you know."

And then, so quietly Hermione almost didn't hear him, Draco muttered, "But no one can save me."

* * *

"By Friday I want twelve inches on the use of the Patronus charm and its properties," Harry announced to the class, which was followed by a groan of disappointment. Usually Harry was loathe to give any of his students homework, but it was policy and so it was usually only once a month that he assigned an essay.

As the students filed out of the classroom, they each in turn stopped by his desk to compliment him on the class that day, as they all did every day. Many of the students had been star-struck having found out that the Boy Who Lived had come back to teach at Hogwarts, and most changed their schedules to include at least one class with him. Harry was surprised by the response his lessons got, but took that as encouragement to continue to be very open and friendly with his students, and keep his classes easygoing. Most of the upperclassmen called him Harry, to which he had no objection, although the First and Second Years were too terrified to even speak to him at all. Even some of the teachers were intimidated by him, which was preposterous considering he was half the age of the next youngest professor in the castle. His very presence often demanded attention, making people stop in their tracks as they passed him in the halls, sometimes comically dropping their books in astonishment. He was unused to the sheer amount of interest people showed in him, and occasionally found it unsettling how many stares he received, and how many teenage girls giggled and whispered to their friends behind cupped hands. Being back in the public eye in the Wizarding world - and in such a  _big_  way - meant that reporters and press followed him wherever he went, without fail. The Golden Boy returning to his home of Hogwarts to teach the subject he'd had to master at only seventeen to defeat the most evil wizard of all time was apparently a news story that never got old and never ended. Harry took it in stride, however, graciously declining interviews with the  _Prophet_  and  _Witch Weekly_ , as well as several repeat offers for a nude photo spread in  _Gay Wizard Monthly_. At first he had been alarmed by this, but was quickly reassured by a laughing Hermione that even straight wizards were asked to do it - and as far as the public knew, Harry was very much a straight man, more focused on his career than in finding a spouse.

He also managed to avoid any questions that were asked of him by students or other faculty members concerning family; just Teddy, he'd say with a smile, and they would "aw" and applaud him because everyone knew who the boy was, because of his parents. Now eight, Teddy was already taller than Harry's naval, and as rambunctious and energetic as ever. He spent the school year with Andromeda (and Draco, Harry supposed, but they didn't speak so he couldn't be certain), while holidays and summer break were spent with Harry. Teddy had a knack for mimicking faces, once morphing into the perfect miniature clone of Harry, which had made him nearly fall over in shock. The boy was also close with Hugo, Hermione and Ron's five-year-old firstborn son, who was red-haired and relatively docile compared to the rest of the Weasley family. Harry treated the new additions to the Weasley family, Hugo and Rose, like his own children, and told himself it would be all he'd ever need. Maybe it wasn't true, but Harry had gotten particularly skillful at being able to lie to himself.

Yes, Harry was adjusting well to his new job, keeping up with his curriculum and keeping everyone at a safe, comfortable distance. He was used to this; putting on a guise to wear as a way of shielding his emotions, which in the past would have broken through at any provocation. With time he managed to harden himself enough to keep his emotions well below the surface, keeping a polite but distant mask to fool those around him. It was the only way he knew how to survive anymore.

Harry packed up his notes and references book splayed on his desk for the lesson, nibbling on the tip of his quill as he pondered something for a moment before jotting it down in his lesson planner. It was already fifth hour; just one more and he could join the students downstairs in the Great Hall for lunch. If there was one thing Harry had missed above most everything else at Hogwarts, it may have been the house elves' cooking.

"Am I interrupting something?" came a voice from the open door on the other side of the room.

Harry, still absorbed in his lesson planning, said, "Can I help you with something?"

"Actually, yes. You see, the man I love teaches in this classroom, and I was hoping to speak with him."

Harry's head whipped up as soon as the stranger's words registered in his mind, fingers and toes instantly going numb as the shock set in, desire instantly beginning to burn in the pit of his stomach like a roaring wildfire. Standing across from him, wearing a black coat that seemed entirely too big for him and a grin that seemed somehow so out of place on his face, was Draco Malfoy, the man he'd loved and lost so many years ago. How he'd changed; gone were the round edges of boyhood and eyes wide and full of a special kind of innocence. Now Draco's face was angular, more than Harry had ever thought possible, cheekbones cutting across his face none too delicately and a pointed chin that only seemed to heighten his demeanor of aristocratic arrogance. His eyes were narrowed, darkened to the color of storm clouds, holding little to nothing of the light and hope they once contained. Draco was in every possible and describable way a man now, a breathtaking sculpture built from the havoc and chaos of his childhood. Every feeling he'd ever had for this man, from love to hate to lust, started boiling inside him, as hot and sharp as a knife.

"Draco," Harry squeaked out, mind still frozen with shock.

"That's all you can say, after all this time?" Draco's smirk was both friendly and strangely unsettling. "No hug, no kiss, not even a 'how are you?' My wife died a couple months ago, you know."

"Yeah, you seem all shaken up about it," muttered Harry sarcastically, keeping a defensive stance behind his desk as he stared down the blonde. "I was very sorry to hear that, by the way. She seemed like a good person. And it's a horrible loss for you son," Harry added, knowing what it was like to lose a parent so young.

Draco's expression seemed to soften at the mention of his son. "It will be hard on Scorpius, not having a mom. But at least we have each other."

"Yeah," said Harry softly. "Look, Draco, why are you here? We haven't spoken in years, the last time I saw you was the time you ended things between us. What do you want?"

Draco's little grin was back, and was that disbelief in his eyes? "First of all Harry, there was never an 'us' to end. We were over before we began." He paused, letting this chunk of information set in, and Harry could see that it was news to Draco as well. "Hard to believe, isn't it? We were never really ever together. Just seems like a lot of wasted time."

Harry nodded noncommittally, lost in his own version of the past. It hadn't been pretty; he'd become a shell of what he once was, which was significant considering most days before Draco came along he couldn't even leave the house. The only reason he stayed strong was for Teddy; he couldn't afford to fail Lupin and Tonks again by casting off their child to deal with his own heartache. In turn, unwittingly but infallibly, Teddy kept Harry sane. When he was entertaining the boy with stories or ice cream or simply taking him to a park, it distracted Harry from the place in his chest where his heart was missing Draco with every throbbing beat. Harry still looked for him, whenever he walked through Diagon Alley, any time he flipped through the  _Prophet_ , any time he spoke to Hermione after she told him once that they'd been talking frequently. He believed it would lessen over time, and when the longing only grew stronger, Harry finally made the move to reach out to McGonagall for a teaching position, despite having no formal schooling, failing to even have completed his final year at Hogwarts. But all the same she accepted his offer, welcoming into the staff with open arms. Work was enough to keep him from driving himself mad with thoughts of the man that he loved, that had been so close and had slipped away.

Harry swallowed harshly, trying to breathe past the lump forming in his throat. "Wasted time," he repeats under his breath.

"Anyway," Draco continues, his voice losing its edge, becoming softer and more solemn. "I came here to apologize."

"Huh?" Harry furrowed his eyebrows, clearly not expecting that.

"I shouldn't have done what I did to you; that was wrong. Telling you how I felt when I was marrying someone else was a mistake. But I needed you to know, because I didn't think I could live without at least telling you, even if it was already too late. I was there, Harry, that day you were talking to my mom about the letters and about me. I heard your confession, I heard you tell her how you felt." And Harry's were alarmingly wide as this information was processed, heat in the form of humiliation rising on his cheeks. "It drove me insane, knowing but not being able to do anything about it because I wasn't supposed to know. I had to watch you break down in tears in my living room, pouring out your heart to my  _mother_ instead of to me, and I had to pretend like it meant nothing to me. Because I was betrothed and I was not supposed to feel that way about someone other than my betrothed. But in that moment Harry, I wanted to be with you more than I'd wanted anything in my life – more than I'd wanted to escape Voldemort, more than I wanted my father to be released from prison, more than I'd wanted to get away from the war. I wanted to take you into my arms and never let you go because I loved you. I was too in love; we were both too young to be capable of handling something like that. So I got married to Astoria and I had a son and I cared about her, but I never once stopped thinking about you, stopped wishing that it was you instead of her. But I walked away from you all those years ago because I thought it was what you wanted; I thought it was what was best. Even though it killed me every day not to wake up next to you. Astoria killed herself and it opened my eyes to how short life is and how mortal we really are. So this needed to be said before it was too late." He paused for a moment. "I'm sorry."

Harry spoke immediately, rushing through his words so he could choke them out before his tears prevented him from speaking altogether. "I never stopped thinking about you either," he admitted. "I missed you like crazy but I assumed you were happy. Losing you was . . . was possibly the hardest thing I ever went through, and that's say something." He laughed, but it was humorless. "When I finally owned up to my feelings, I was too late, and I blamed myself for it. We shouldn't have been worried about what people would think; we should have been finding out a way to be together. I should have fought for us instead of against us, and I realized that too late. I'm sorry too."

Draco was frowning, and Harry finally understood why his smile had seemed so out of place. Mourning suited Draco; the frown fit perfectly on his face where the smirk had left, the dark clothing made him look mysterious and demure. There was a beautiful misery to his face, complete with thundering storms in his liquid gray eyes. Whatever Draco was feeling, he  _embodied_ it; his whole being morphed to fit with his mood. Never was it more apparent to Harry than right now, as Draco looked at him, and Harry saw it all spelled out so clearly. Eyes filled with regret, hands trembling to touch, lips rubbing and teeth clashing as he fought with his mind about what to say. He approached Harry slowly from across the room, his gait graceful and smooth, stopping when his lower-half was leaning against Harry's desk. Immediately their heads inclined toward one another, an instinctive effort to be as close as possible.

"Do you still love me?" Draco asked in a hushed whisper, though there was no one around to hear him. Harry watched his pale lips move and touch, his tongue darting out to wet them.

"Yes," Harry breathed with as much conviction he could muster.

"Do you want to be with me?" Harry couldn't help but hear the hope in Draco's voice.

"More than anything."

That was all it took to bring them together, lips crashing against each other in a ferocious kiss. There was no need for tenderness or lingering; it was hot and passionate and over quickly as they gasped for breath, still in each other's embrace. Draco's fingers were buried deep in Harry's thick black hair, tugging harshly while Harry grabbed him from the back of the neck and pulled him closer, again and again, kissing him until they were both senseless with swollen lips. Kissing Draco made Harry feel whole again, or rather like there had never been a hole in the first place. Everything had suddenly fallen back into place as soon as he'd taken the blonde man into his arms, and Harry couldn't remember a time when he had been happier, because now he realized that he had everything. The part of him that had been missing all this time had rejoined him, buried itself deep within his chest, never to be separated from him again. And it was like when Harry first put his glasses on in the morning, except heightened tenfold: he could  _see_ everything so clearly, could map out the rest of his life in his head in that very moment. He and Draco were going to be together until the end, and no one and nothing could take that away from them.

Harry's epiphany occurred just as Draco was biting on his lower lip, his own tongue flicking across his teeth in response. Draco's mouth had just moved to Harry's neck when a small  _ahem_ interrupted him. Harry's eyes flew open to find about ten shell-shocked students already in his classroom for fifth hour, some shifting uncomfortably with their eyes downcast, others craning their necks to see who the blonde was who was currently attacking their teacher. Draco pulled off slowly, turning around with a sheepish grin to wave awkwardly at the students before pecking Harry on the cheek. "Meet you afterwards," he whispered.

"Love you," Harry said in reply, and Draco nodded in reply. Because he knew, of course he already knew. But after all this time, it needed to be said.

Draco ducked quickly out of the room, dodging curious eyes and questioning mouths. Harry was blushing furiously now, attempting to straighten his clothes and look presentable enough to lecture a class. "Sorry you had to see that," he muttered by way of a greeting.

There was a general murmur punctuated only by one girl in the front of the class who shouted "We didn't mind!" which was followed by most of the girls giggling like maniacs, and boy in the back who shouted "Get some Professor!" which was followed by cackling from the rest of the students. Harry nodded and at once began to magic the lesson onto the blackboard when a young student by the name of Victoria raised her hand.

"Yes, Victoria?" Harry said.

"Professor, was that Draco Malfoy?"

Harry blinked. "Er, yes, it was. Again, that was highly inappropriate behavior that you had to witness, and I apologi-,"

"Don't apologize, Professor," she said, a small smirk on her face. "This is the first time we've seen you smiling all year."

Harry  _was_ smiling, although he hadn't been aware of that until now. "I guess that's a side effect of being in love," he said in reply, and maybe he rolled his eyes at his own corniness, but that didn't make it any less true. Harry was in love, and he was happy. It was more than he could have ever asked for.

**Author's Note:**

> Come to say hi on **[tumblr](https://stylslou.tumblr.com)** if you wish :)


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